m 


WILLIAM  PHILLIPS  TILDEN 


AND 


Cnfcutes 


PRINTED,  NOT   PUBLISHED 


BOSTON 

PRESS  OF  GEO.  H.  ELLIS,  141  FRANKLIN  STREET 
1891 


THIS   VOLUME   HAS   BEEN   PREPARED  FOR   THE   FAMILY 
AND  NEAREST   FRIENDS. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAl'THK  PAGE 

I.  ANCESTRY, 5 

II.  MY  CHILDHOOD, 10 

III.  MY  BOYHOOD, 19 

IV.  BOYHOOD, 30 

V.  BOYHOOD, 42 

VI.  YOUNG  MANHOOD, 60 

VII.  CRISIS, 66 

VIII.  PREPARATION  FOR  THE  MINISTRY,       75 

IX.  EARLY  MINISTRY, 85 

X.  EARLY  MINISTRY, 96 

XI.  CONCORD  MINISTRY, 106 

XII.  WALPOLE  MINISTRY, 122 

XIII.  FITCHBURG  MINISTRY, 128 

XIV.  CHURCH  GREEN  MINISTRY 140 

XV.  EXTRACTS  FROM  JOURNAL, 145 

XVI.  EXTRACTS  FROM  JOURNAL, 152 

XVII.  EUROPEAN  TRAVEL, 164 

XVIII.  CHARITY  LECTURE, 183 

XIX.  SEVENTY, 190 

XX.  COMMUNION  SERVICE, 204 

XXI.  END  OF  BOSTON  MINISTRY, 211 

XXII.  ROWEN, 217 

XXIII.  ROWEN, 225 

XXIV.  ROWEN, 230 

XXV.  ROWEN, 244 

XXVI.  LAST  DAYS, 253 


APPENDIX, 263 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


i. 

ANCESTRY. 

HAVING  passed  my  seventy-seventh  birth  anniver- 
sary, I  have  thought  it  might  be  well,  while  enjoying 
a  fair  degree  of  memory  and  strength,  to  jot  down  some 
of  the  incidents  of  my  long  and  somewhat  varied  life. 

I  do  this  particularly  for  my  children  and  grand- 
children and  hoped  for  great-great-grandchildren,  think- 
ing it  possible  that  many  years  hence,  when  I  shall  be 
to  them  only  a  memory  or  a  tradition,  they  may  like 
on  some  stormy  day,  when  they  have  nothing  else  to 
do,  to  look  it  over,  and  possibly  talk  about  it  to  their 
children  and  children's  children. 

First,  let  me  say  a  word  of  the  old  town  in  which  I 
was  born,  and  tell  you  something  of  our  ancestors  as 
far  back  as  we  can  trace  them. 

Scituate  is  one  of  the  old  towns  of  Plymouth  County, 
Massachusetts.  It  borders  on  Massachusetts  Bay,  has 
a  coast  line  of  seven  or  eight  miles,  and  is  about  half- 
way from  Boston  to  Plymouth.  Its  aboriginal  name 
was  "  Satuit,"  the  name  of  a  brook  that  empties  into 
the  harbor.  It  means  "cold  brook."  That  is  the  way 
the  town  is  spelled  in  the  earliest  records.  Shortly 
after  it  was  written  "  Seteat,"  then  "Cittewat."  But 
about  1640  the  orthography  was  settled  as  "Scituate." 


6  Autobiography 

The  town  was  settled  very  early.  It  opened  unusual 
facilities  through  its  harbor  and  the  North  River,  which 
formed  the  southern  boundary  line,  for  commerce,  fish- 
ing, and  ship-building.  These  have  been  its  leading 
industries  from  the  beginning  until  fifty  years  ago, 
when  all  three  began  to  decline. 

But,  when  I  was  a  boy,  the  North  River  was  lined 
with  ship-yards,  and  the  harbor  filled  with  fishing  vessels 
and  coasters.  The  first  ship  that  visited  the  North- 
west coast  from  this  country  was  built  on  the  North 
River  in  1774.  She  was  called  the  "Columbia,"  and 
commanded  by  Captain  Kendrick,  who  explored  the 
river  Oregon,  and  renamed  it  after  his  ship  "  Colum- 
bia." It  still  retains  both  names. 

Among  the  earliest  settlers  of  Scituate  was  Nathaniel 
Tilden,  who  came  from  England  with  his  family  before 
1628.  Just  how  long  before  is  not  known.  But  in  this 
year  the  old  records  tell  of  large  tracts  of  land  sold  by 
Henry  Merritt  to  Nathaniel  Tilden,  showing  that  he 
was  a  man  of  means.  He  was  from  Tenterden  in  the 
county  of  Kent.  Other  gentlemen  came  with  him  from 
the  same  place,  and  they  were  called  "  the  men  of  Kent." 
The  first  street  laid  out  was  called  "  Kent  Street." 
This  was  near  the  harbor.  On  this  street  Nathaniel 
Tilden  lived.  A  few  years  later  he  was  chosen  "Ruling 
Elder"  of  the  first  church  in  Scituate,  and  after  that 
is  known  as  Elder  Nathaniel  Tilden.  All  his  children 
were  born  in  England.  Their  names  were  Joseph, 
Thomas,  Mary,  Sarah,  Judith,  Lydia,  and  Stephen. 
He  died  in  1641,  and  his  will  shows  that  he  had  prop- 
erty,—  "a  stone  house  with  lands  in  Tenterden,  Eng- 
land, with  large  possessions,  in  lands,  in  Scituate  and 


Ancestry  7 

Marshfield."  In  his  inventory  are  "ten  swarms  of  bees, 
appraised  at  io£."  Rev.  Samuel  Deane,  in  his  History 
of  Scituate,  from  which  I  have  gleaned  liberally,  says, 
"  It  is  the  earliest  notice  we  have  met  with  of  the 
keeping  of  bees  in  the  Colony."  So  that,  if  any  of  my 
children's  children's  children  should  choose  commerce 
in  honey  as  a  profession,  they  can  quote  their  American 
ancestor  as  a  pioneer  in  the  business. 

From  Elder  Nathaniel's  eldest  son,  Joseph,  our  branch 
of  the  Tildens  descended.  He  succeeded  to  his  father's 
estate  on  Kent  Street.  He  was  a  member  of  the  second 
church,  and  was  chosen  deacon  in  1655.  He  belonged 
to  the  liberal  or  moderate  class  of  Puritans.  His  father 
had  willed  him  lands  in  Scituate  and  Marshfield.  He 
married,  and  had  nine  children.  His  son  Samuel,  born 
1660,  settled  on  the  North  River  in  Marshfield,  near 
Gravelly  Beach.  He  had  a  son  Samuel,  born  1689; 
and  he,  living  on  the  same  homestead,  had  a  son  Samuel, 
born  1718,  who  was  the  father  of  my  grandfather  Sam- 
uel, who  lived  to  about  ninety-four,  occupying  the  same 
lands  which  had  been  in  the  family  since  1640.  After 
my  grandfather  had  passed  his  labor,  he  divided  his 
property,  mainly  in  land,  among  his  children,  and  they 
became  responsible  for  his  support, —  a  common  thing  in 
those  days,  but  very  unwise,  as  it  always  proves.  So 
the  old  estate  was  cut  into  bits,  and  has  since  passed 
into  other  hands. 

And  now  a  word  of  our  English  ancestry. 

Elder  Nathaniel  seems  to  have  come  from  good  stock. 
My  cousin,  the  late  Thomas  Tilden,  of  New  York,  when 
he  was  in  England,  visited  Sir  John  Maxwell  Tylden, 
knight  of  Milsted,  county  of  Kent,  and  learned  from 
manuscripts  in  his  possession  that  our  American  ances- 


8  Autobiography 

tor  traced  his  lineage  in  direct  lines  through  a  succes- 
sion of  Tyldens,  among  them  Sir  John,  Sir  Thomas,  Sir 
William  (who  fought  in  the  van  of  the  English  army 
under  the  Black  Prince,  at  the  battle  of  Poictiers),  Sir 
Henry  (time  of  Edward  II.),  to  Sir  Richard  Tylden,  who 
lived  in  the  reigns  of  Henry  II.  and  Richard  I.  of  Eng- 
land. He  was  seneschal  to  Hugh  de  Lacy,  constable 
of  Chester  during  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  He  after- 
wards assumed  the  cross,  accompanied  Cceur  de  Lion 
to  the  Holy  Land,  and  fought  under  him  at  the  battle 
of  Ascalon  against  Sultan  Saladin. 

Thus  we  are  enabled,  from  reliable  sources,  to  trace 
our  English  lineage  back  to  the  latter  part  of  the  twelfth 
century.  In  Burke's  "Landed  Gentry,"  1858,  the  Tyl- 
den family  is  spoken  of  as  one  of  great  antiquity. 

The  Tylden  coat-of-arms  combines  the  insignia  of 
the  Church,  the  military,  and  the  nobility.  St.  Andrew's 
cross  on  the  shield  denotes  the  Church,  the  battle-axe 
upon  the  crest  the  military,  the  ermine  on  the  cross 
nobility.  As  our  earliest  known  progenitor,  Sir  Rich- 
ard, assumed  the  cross  and  fought  under  Richard  the 
Lion-hearted  for  the  Holy  Land,  we  see  the  appropri- 
ateness of  the  cross  on  the  shield  and  the  battle-axe  on 
the  crest,  while  the  titles  to  the  family  names,  from  gen- 
eration to  generation,  abundantly  justify  the  "ermine" 
as  a  token  of  nobility. 

As  native-born  Americans,  citizens  of  a  republic 
whose  nobility  consists  in  noble  men  and  noble  women, 
we  do  not  put  a  high  value  on  titles  :  we  prefer  the 
real  thing ;  and  yet  it  is  pleasant  to  know  that  our 
English  ancestors,  living  in  an  age  when  titles  of  dis- 
tinction were  highly  regarded,  and  under  a  government 
which  conferred  its  honors  on  supposed  real  worth, 


Ancestry  9 

were  deemed  not  unworthy  of  an  honored  place  in 
society.  We  like  to  feel  that  we  have  a  worthy  ances- 
try back  of  us ;  and  we  can  freely  forgive  their  titles 
in  the  assurance  we  feel  that  there  was  true  nobility 
among  them. 

Should  we,  as  the  American  descendants  of  Elder 
Nathaniel,  our  branch  especially,  ever  devise  a  coat-9i- 
arms,  while  we  should  hold  on  to  the  cross  as  the  sym- 
bol of  our  Christian  faith,  we  should  want  to  substitute 
for  the  "battle-axe"  a  "broad-axe"  crest,  as  more  fitting. 
And  we  could  do  it  with  pride,  as  the  battle-axe  is  a 
symbol  of  destruction,  while  the  broad-axe  is  a  symbol 
of  r<?#struction.  But  real  nobility  is  the  same  celestial 
plant  under  whatever  skies  and  whether  named  or 
nameless. 

Somehow,  in  his  emigration  from  the  county  of  Kent, 
Nathaniel  lost  the  "y"  from  his  surname.  Before  he 
came  he  was  Tylden,  and  after  arriving  he  was  Tilden. 
Perhaps  it  was  only  because  "i"  is  more  easily  written 
than  "y." 

And  now  to  return  to  my  grandfather,  Deacon  Samuel 
Tilden,  who  lived  near  Gravelly  Beach  on  the  North 
River.  He  had  ten  children,  nine  sons  and  one  daugh- 
ter, all  living  to  be  married.  My  father,  Luther  Tilden, 
was  the  seventh  son,  born  Jan.  2,  1777.  He  married 
Philenda  Brooks,  my  own  precious  mother,  born  Oct. 
3,  1778.  They  were  married  Sept.  18,  1800.  My  father 
was  a  ship-carpenter,  as  were  most  of  the  men  living 
near  the  North  River. 

When  I  was  born,  May  9,  1811,  father  was  living  in 
a  house,  still  standing  and  in  good  repair,  about  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  the  ship-yard  where  he  carried  on  ship- 
building in  company  with  his  brother  Jotham. 


II. 

MY   CHILDHOOD. 
1811-1817. 

OF  the  first  three  or  four  years  of  my  life  I  remember 
very  little;  and  yet  all  this  time  I  was  sunned  beneath 
my  mother's  smile  and  nurtured  by  night  and  day,  in 
sickness  and  health,  by  my  mother's  love, —  all  forgotten, 
but  not  lost.  My  little  brain  was  too  soft  to  hold  the 
impression,  but  my  infant  nature  absorbed  the  sweet 
influence  all  unconsciously ;  and  these  forgotten  years 
have  been  woven  into  the  texture  of  my  long  life.  A 
mother's  love  is  deathless,  not  only  in  itself,  but  in  its 
influence. 

I  have  been  told  that  I  was  rather  a  sickly  child  at 
first.  Fortunately,  I  have  forgotten  that,  too.  But  I 
remember  hearing  mother  say  that,  when  she  told  a 
neighbor  noted  for  her  closeness  how  feeble  I  was  and 
that  I  would  eat  nothing  but  loaf  sugar,  the  neighbor 
exclaimed,  "  Why,  can  you  afford  it  ?  "  Mother's  eyes 
always  flashed  as  she  told  the  story;  for,  dear  as  loaf 
sugar  was  in  those  early  days,  her  sick  baby  was  not  to 
be  named  for  value  with  all  the  sugar  refineries  of  the 
country. 

One  of  my  earliest  memories  is  of  going  out  doors 
after  a  shower  and  sailing  the  top  of  a  little  wooden 
trunk  in  a  puddle  of  water  in  the  yard.  This  was  my 
first  nautical  experience. 


My  Childhood  1 1 

We  lived  about  five  miles  from  the  seashore,  and 
could  hear  the  dull  roar  of  the  surf  after  a  storm. 
Besides,  my  father  built  ships;  and  perhaps  it  was  the 
two  put  together  that  led  me  to  extemporize  my  first 
ship  and  launch  her  out  upon  a  yard  of  rain-water  sea. 
I  remember,  also,  looking  out  of  the  front  window  one 
morning  after  a  heavy  wind,  and  seeing  that  the  roof  of 
the  barn  had  been  swept  away  during  the  night  by  the 
furious  gale.  I  can  see  it  now  just  as  it  looked  then. 

I  cannot  tell  when  I  began  to  know  father  and  mother 
and  brother  and  sisters.  I  guess  I  always  knew  them, 
they  looked  so  natural.  There  were  four  children  in 
the  home  before  I  came.  The  oldest,  Philenda,  was 
named  for  her  mother.  She  was  a  pretty  little  brunette, 
of  slight  figure.  The  next,  Luther  Albert,  took  his 
father's  name,  Luther,  with  Albert  added  to  avoid  the 
Jr.  He  was  my  only  brother,  seven  years  older  than  I. 
The  next,  Julia,  with  brown  hair,  rather  delicate ;  and 
the  next,  Sarah,  a  two-year  old  when  I  came,  with  flaxen 
hair  and  rosy  cheeks,  full  of  romp  and  frolic.  So,  when 
I  began  to  peep  with  the  rest,  we  had  five  chicks  in  our 
home  nest. 

Our  sweet  little  home  is  still  standing,  and  looks  just 
as  it  did  when  I  sailed  my  first  ship  in  the  end  yard. 
The  barn,  too,  is  essentially  the  same  as  when  visited 
by  the  gale. 

In  due  time  I  was  sent  to  school  to  learn  the  alpha- 
bet. The  modern  method  of  learning  letters  from  pict- 
ure-books or  blocks  with  large  letters  on  each  square 
was  then  unknown.  The  art  of  learning  made  easy 
had  not  been  discovered.  "The  hill  of  science"  was 
hard  to  climb,  and  the  gate  that  opened  into  the  nar- 


12  A  utobiograpliy 

row  way  was  the  alphabet.  So,  in  charge  of  my  older 
sisters,  I  was  sent  a  half-mile  or  more  to  learn  how  to 
open  that  gate.  It  didn't  look  as  if  it  could  be  opened, 
and  the  teacher  seetfied  to  take  the  most  unnatural  and 
awkward  way  possible  of  lifting  the  latch. 

This  was  the  process.  "  The  school-ma'am,"  as  we 
all  called  her,  sat  in  her  chair,  with  Webster's  Spelling 
Book  opened  at  the  alphabet  in  her  lap.  Holding  the 
book  in  one  hand  and  her  open  pen-knife  in  the  other, 
she  called  the  urchin  to  be  instructed  to  her.  He 
comes  and  stands  by  the  teacher's  side,  bobs  his  head 
in  token  of  respect,  and  is  told  to  look  on  his  book. 
He  does  so.  She  then,  with  her  slender  blade,  points 
to  A,  and  says:  "That  is  A.  Say  it  after  me,  'A.'  ' 
He  does  it  the  first  time.  Then  follow  B,  C,  D,  E,  F, 
in  rapid  succession,  till  the  whole  column  of  queer-look- 
ing characters  is  finished.  That  is  lesson  No.  i.  It 
wasn't  so  hard  as  the  little  fellow  thought  it  would  be. 
He  could  call  the  letters  after  the  ma'am  every  time, 
just  as  easy.  But  the  gate  was  just  as  fast  as  ever. 
This  process  was  repeated  twice  a  day,  for  what  was 
deemed  a  suitable  length  of  time,  till  the  pupil,  getting 
the  hang  of  the  order,  and  knowing  just  what  was  com- 
ing, could  repeat  after  the  ma'am  with  a  glibness  that 
promised  well  for  a  high  literary  career.  Soon  he  could 
say  his  letters  without  any  prompting  by  the  teacher 
and  without  looking  on  the  book.  But,  alas  !  a  day  of 
trial  came,  when  the  teacher  began  to  skip.  That  was 
dreadful.  Just  as  the  pupil  could  say  all  the  letters  in 
the  alphabet  in  regular  order  without  missing  one,  to 
skip  from  A  to  D  and  from  F  to  R  was  enough  to 
break  down  all  previous  attainments,  and  throw  the 


My  Childhood  13 

poor  child  back  to  first  principles,  utterly  discouraged. 
Finally,  after  many  days  of  struggle,  with  some  boxing 
of  ears,  and  tears,  it  begins  to  dawn  upon  the  pupil 
that  each  letter  has  its  own  name,  and  he  must  learn 
to  call  it  by  its  own  name  whenever  and  wherever  he 
sees  it,  just  as  he  calls  Tom,  Tom,  and 'never  Charles. 
The  mystery  is  solved.  He  opens  the  gate,  and  walks 
through  into  pastures  not  always  green. 

My  world  during  my  early  years  was  small,  but  it 
was  right  in  the  centre  of  all  things ;  for  the  highest 
place  in  the  great  blue  dome  of  sky  was  always  directly 
overhead.  Some  of  our  neighbors  were  queer  old  peo- 
ple. Singularly  enough,  I  remember  them  much  better 
than  the  children. 

One  was  Uncle  Lazarus,  as  we  used  to  call  him,  who 
with  his  wife  lived  in  an  old  house  near  by.  He  was 
a  farmer,  and  she  attended  to  the  dairy  and  made  but- 
ter and  cheese.  He  had  a  nice  garden  near  the  house, 
open  to  the  spring  sun.  I  liked  to  see  him  work  in  it. 
One  day,  I  remember  I  was  "  helping  him,"  when  he  was 
preparing  beds  for  sowing.  Just  as  he  had  one  nicely 
smoothed  for  dropping  in  the  seed,  I  carelessly  stepped 
on  it.  It  was  .too  bad.  The  old  man  flared  in  right- 
eous indignation,  as  he  exclaimed  :  "  Go  home  !  Go 
home,  or  I'll  hang  you ! "  I  was  frightened,  and 
bounded  off  like  a  rabbit  with  a  dog  at  its  heels.  For 
a  while  I  kept  indoors  at  home  ;  but  after  a  time  I 
ventured  out,  and  saw  Uncle  Lazarus  coming  towards 
the  house,  with  a  rope  in  his  hand.  With  his  threat 
of  hanging  ringing  in  my  scared  ears,  I  verily  thought 
my  time  had  come,  and  dashed  into  the  house.  But 
my  fears  were  assuaged  when  the  dear  old  man  came 


14  Autobiography 

in  to  return  the  rope  he  had  borrowed,  having  forgot- 
ten probably  all  about  the  scolding,  and  little  dream- 
ing what  a  fright  he  had  given  me. 

Another  neighbor,  in  the  opposite  direction,  was  Mr. 
George  Gushing,  a  farmer  with  a  large  family  of  nice 
children.  They  had  a  large  barn,  with  attractive  hay- 
mows for  boys  and  hens.  One  day,  when  I  was  per- 
haps five  or  six  years  old,  Ned  Damon  and  I  strayed 
into  this  barn-yard.  I  think  the  cow-house  door  was 
open,  and  we  entered  and  soon  began  hunting  for 
eggs, —  a  very  innocent  and  delightful  thing  to  do  in 
one's  own  barn  ;  but  this  was  in  Mr.  George  Cushing's 
barn,  and  that  wasn't  Ned's  father's  name  nor  mine. 

But  we  didn't  stop  to  think  of  that ;  or,  if  we  did, 
we  didn't  stop  hunting,  and,  alas  !  we  found.  We  had 
never  studied  history,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  rights 
of  a  discoverer.  So  there  was  no  valid  excuse  for  our 
appropriating  those  eggs  as  we  did,  and  bearing  them 
away  to  a  convenient  place,  where  we  amused  ourselves 
with  "  thrashing "  them,  as  we  boys  used  to  call  it. 
We  would  lay  one  down,  walk  off  so  many  paces,  and 
then  with  a  long  switch  march  up,  blindfold,  and  t/irash. 
Who  hit  first  I  don't  remember.  I  only  remember  that 
some  of  them  were  defective.  But  we  thought  them 
sound  when  we  took  them.  So  I  don't  name  that  to 
palliate  the  crime.  At  last  the  fun  was  over,  and  it  was 
time  to  go. 

Ned  left,  and  I  went  home  alone.  But  somehow  I 
began  to  feel  very  lonesome.  What  would  mother 
think  if  she  knew  it  ?  If  it  had  only  been  in  our  barn  ! 
But  it  wasn't.  If  it  had  only  been  in  Uncle  Ledard's 
barn !  But  it  wasn't.  The  more  I  thought  it  over, 


My  Childhood  15 

the  more  troubled  I  was.  I  went  home ;  but  I  couldn't 
laugh,  I  couldn't  play.  Mother,  with  her  quick  eye, 
saw  something  was  the  matter,  and  wanted  in  her 
sweet  way  to  know  if  I  was  sick.  I  told  her  I  was,  and 
I  told  the  truth.  I  was  sick, —  sick  in  a  way  I  had 
never  been  before.  It  wasn't  the  headache,  it  wasn't 
the  stomach-ache  ;  and  yet  it  was  some  sort  of  an  ache 
that  made  me  sick  all  over.  Mother  wondered  what 
could  be  the  matter,  and  made  me  up  a  little  bed  in  the 
room  where  she  was  working.  But  the  tenderer  she 
was,  the  worse  I  felt.  At  last,  after  rolling  and  toss- 
ing, I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  faltered  out, 
"  Mother,  what  do  they  do  to  folks  that  steal  ? "  She 
looked  at  me  an  instant:  "Do?  They  put  them  in 
prison,  to  be  sure.  Why  ? "  The  rock  was  smitten, 
and  the  waters  gushed.  I  told  her  all,  and  went  to 
prison  forthwith, —  the  prison  of  my  mother's  arms, 
God's  first  and  best  reformatory  institution  the  world 
has  ever  known.  It  was  my  first  experience  of  the 
voice  of  God  in  my  soul ;  and,  though  I  did  not  under- 
stand it  then,  I  have  since  regarded  it  as  one  of  the 
truest  religious  experiences  of  my  life. 

Our  nearest  neighbor  was  Judge  Nathan  Gushing. 
He  lived  in  a  fine  old  mansion,  close  to  our  house.  He 
was  a  distinguished  man,  a  graduate  of  Harvard,  a 
brave  patriot  in  the  Revolution;  and  in  1789  he  was 
appointed  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court.  He  married 
Miss  Abigail  Tilden,  of  Boston,  a  relative  of  father ; 
and  this  may  have  added  somewhat  to  the  neighbor- 
hood ties,  for  he  was  a  good  friend.  He  died  while  I 
was  very  young  ;  but  his  fine  old  home,  with  its  pleasant 
surroundings,  was  one  of  the  attractions  of  my  early 


1 6  A  u  tobiography 


: 


childhood.  Aunt  Lizzie  especially,  a  domestic  in  the 
household,  a  sort  of  general-see-to-everything,  was  my 
special  favorite.  Perhaps  it  was  her  seed-cakes  and 
other  dainties  which  lent  a  charm  to  our  intimacy  that 
has  lodged  her  pleasant  face  in  my  memory. 

The  old  judge  was  particularly  fond  of  my  little 
brother  Albert,  and  used  often  to  take  him  out  to  ride. 
One  day,  when  the  time  was  approaching  for  Albert 
to  shed  his  frock,  the  judge  took  him  home,  and,  un- 
beknown to  mother,  had  the  frock  taken  off  and  tied 
up  in  a  bundle,  and  the  boy  arrayed  in  a  beautiful  suit 
of  velvet  he  had  bought  for  him.  Thus  changed  from 
petticoats  to  velvet  pants  and  jerkin,  proud  as  a  pea- 
cock, he  was  carried  home  to  his  astonished  mother. 
The  tradition  of  this  pleasant  incident  is  remembered 
as  one  of  the  fairy  stories  of  home  life.  If  one  wants 
to  make  himself  a  hero  and  attain  to  earthly  immor- 
tality, let  him  give  some  boy  his  first  suit  of  jacket  and 
pants. 

By  and  by  I  was  old  enough  to  go  to  winter  as  well 
as  summer  school.  The  winter  school  was  taught  by  a 
"master"  who  could  handle  the  big  boys  in  case  of 
mutiny.  It  was  quite  an  experience  for  a  child  to  pass 
from  a  "  ma'am  "  to  a  "  master."  My  experience  was 
not  altogether  lovely.  Our  winter  teachers  were  often 
Harvard  students  who  were  allowed  a  winter  vacation 
for  teaching,  to  eke  out  college  expenses.  One  of  these 
I  have  reason  to  remember.  I  remember  even  his 
steel-gray  coat,  trimmed  with  black  braid,  which  gave 
him  quite  a  military  air. 

If  he  taught  me  anything,  I  have  forgotten  it ;  but  I 
have  not  forgotten  a  most  unmerciful  boxing  of  the  ears 


My  Childhood  17 

he  gave  me  for  something, —  I  cannot  tell  what, —  and 
how  they  turned  blue,  green,  yellow,  and  less  gorgeous 
colors  as  they  passed  through  the  various  stages  of 
convalescence.  I  remember,  too,  how  I  vowed,  as  many 
a  whipped  boy  has  done  before  me,  that,  if  ever  I  got 
strong  enough,  I  would  "lick  him."  But  steel-gray 
left  us  when  the  term  was  over,  and  my  child  wrath 
soon  subsided. 

That  little  woodshed  at  the  end  of  the  house  was  the 
children's  play-room,  where  we  pounded  old  nails  and 
young  fingers.  We  had  a  flag-pond,  too,  in  the  lower 
field,  back  of  the  barn,  which  yielded  abundance  of  flag- 
root  and  pussy  tails.  A  nice  place  for  running  and 
catching  butterflies  was  a  high  sodded  bank  next  the 
wall  between  our  house  and  Judge  Nathan's. 

Our  stormy-day  play-room  was  an  unfinished  chamber 
where  odds  and  ends  of  castaway  things  were  collected. 
The  most  noteworthy  of  these  were  father's  old  mili- 
tary trappings.  He  had  held  a  captain's  commission  ; 
and  in  the  war  of  1812,  as  it  was  called,  his  regiment 
was  called  out  to  guard  the  coast.  A  British  seventy- 
four  lying  off  the  harbor  had  sent  a  boat's  crew  ashore 
for  fresh  provisions.  These  the  loyal  farmers  refused, 
and  in  retaliation  they  set  fire  to  the  vessels  in  the  har- 
bor. Ten  fishing  schooners  and  coasters  were  burned. 
A  great  sensation  was  created,  and  the  militia  was 
called  out.  I  was  too  young  to  remember,  but  mother 
and  the  old  military  relics  kept  the  story  fresh.  There 
in  our  rainy-day  play-room  were  the  epaulets,  brass- 
mounted  sword  and  scabbard,  and  scarlet  sash  father 
wore,  and  the  long  spontoon  he  carried. 

When  I  was  about  six  years  old,  father  sold  our  snug 


1 8  Autobiography 

little  home,  which  was  all  paid  for,  and  built  a  new 
house  on  the  North  River,  where  he  and  his  brother 
carried  on  ship-building.  This  proved  an  unfortunate 
change  financially,  for  the  new  house,  which  father 
spared  no  pains  in  building,  cost  much  more  than  he 
got  for  the  old  ;  and  from  the  debts  thus  incurred,  fol- 
lowed by  a  decline  in  business,  he  was  never  able  to 
extricate  himself.  I  remember  how  mother  mourned 
over  it ;  and  how,  in  view  of  this  experience,  she  used  to 
say  to  me,  "William,  never  get  in  debt."  But,  child  as 
I  was,  I  was  delighted,  as  all  children  are,  with  the  idea 
of  moving ;  and  remember  going  to  the  place  selected, 
close  to  the  ship-yard,  to  see  them  break  ground  for  the 
cellar  with  oxen  and  ploughs  and  scrapers.  Our  mov- 
ing from  the  old  house  to  the  new  may  mark  the  transi- 
tion from  my  childhood  to  my  boyhood. 


III. 

MY   BOYHOOD. 

1817-1822. 

BLOCK    HOUSE    BUILT. —  COASTING. —  SKATING. —  FISHING   ON 
THE  NORTH  RIVER. —  TANDEM  FISHING. —  OUTSIDE  FISHING. 

THE  site  of  our  new  house  was  at  a  bend  of  the  river, 
just  above  Union  Bridge,  known  from  early  days  as  the 
"Block  House,"  where  there  were  a  fort  and  garrison 
in  Philip's  War.  This  was  the  dear  spot  where  I  spent 
my  boyhood.  It  is  precious  with  a  thousand  memories 
that  can  neither  be  told  nor  forgotten.  The  new  house 
was  but  one  story,  like  the  old  one ;  but  it  was  larger, 
and  two  chambers  were  finished.  We  had  a  large  barn, 
and  convenient  out-buildings  for  pigs,  hens,  etc.,  and  a 
garden  plot.  Soon  after  moving,  we  had  a  "  house- 
warming,"  a  large  company  of  old  and  new  neighbors 
being  invited.  Father  and  mother  loved  society,  and 
made  the  company  enjoy  themselves.  We  had  danc- 
ing, I  remember,  in  the  long  kitchen,  with  yellow 
painted  floor.  There  was  a  colored  man  named  John 
Wood,  who  played  the  violin.  He  wore  a  tall  bell- 
crowned  hat,  and  cut  quite  a  figure.  He  was  not 
much  of  a  musician.  My  Uncle  Elijah  used  to  say 
that  the  only  way  he  could  turn  a  tune  was  by  bearing 
on  Jiarder.  There  were  no  pianos  in  our  neighbor- 
hood. I  doubt  if  there  was  one  in  town.  So  we  all 


2O  Autobiography 

depended  on  John  Wood.  We  always  gave  him  his 
whole  name.  He  was  an  important  personage.  Oh, 
how  long  it  did  seem  to  us  children  for  him  to  get 
ready  to  play,  to  tune  his  riddle  !  How  he  would  resin 
his  bow,  and  screw  up  the  strings,  and  scrape  away  till 
they  were  almost  in  tune  !  One  screw  more,  and  tivcrng 
goes  the  string.  Then  a  new  piece  of  catgut  is  unrolled, 
and  fastened,  and  wound  up.  Scrape,  scrape,  scrape 
again,  till  at  last  "all  ready."  "Fisher's  Hornpipe"  or 
"Money  Musk"  is  started,  and  partners  balance  and 
twirl  up  and  down  the  middle  in  hilarious  joy.  I  think 
there  was  more  fun  in  dancing,  when  I  was  a  boy, 
than  there  is  now.  There  is  more  skill  at  present.  We 
had  few  dancing-schools.  Our  young  people  took  it 
the  natural  way,  as  their  fathers  and  mothers  did ;  and 
a  jolly  good  time  we  made  of  it. 

What  a  happy  night  that  was  to  me !  I  was  the 
youngest,  and  was  permitted  to  sit  up.  I  think  it  was 
my  first  ball.  I  presume  I  bawled  the  next  day  from 
fatigue  after  my  late  hours. 

We  had  not  been  long  in  our  new  home  when  we  had 
a  great  surprise, —  a  sweet  little  baby.  I  had  been  the 
baby  for  seven  years,  and  I  liked  it.  To  be  sure,  my 
growing  legs  reached  nearly  to  the  floor  when  I  sat  in 
mother's  lap ;  but  I  liked  the  dear  chair  so  well,  I  had 
rather  be  laughed  at  than  to  give  it  up.  But  now  a  little 
daughter  had  come,  and  I  could  play  baby  no  longer. 
She  was  called  "  Lucy  Brooks,"  after  a  favorite  maiden 
aunt,  a  sister  of  mother.  Two  years  later  another 
little  sister  came  to  keep  her  from  being  lonesome. 
This  was  the  richest  furnishing  we  had  for  the  new 
house.  Now  we  were  a  family  of  seven, —  a  sacred  num- 


21 

her, —  and  the  golden  chain  remained  intact  till  mother 
died,  seventeen  years  after.  Mother  was  forty-two 
years  old  when  her  youngest  was  born.  She  was  called 
"  Caroline,"  and  a  darling  child  she  proved.  There  was 
so  long  a  space  between  me  and  the  two  youngest  that 
father  used  to  call  them  the  children  of  his  second  wife. 

My  main  work  at  first,  before  and  after  school,  was 
to  bring  chips  from  the  ship-yard  for  our  open  fires. 
We  never  had  a  stove,  while  I  lived  at  home,  in  kitchen 
or  sitting-room.  Everything  was  cooked  by  a  large, 
open  fire.  On  one  side  of  our  wide  kitchen  fireplace 
was  a  brick  oven,  heated  once  a  week,  for  great  dome- 
shaped  loaves  of  brown  bread  and  pies,  and  sometimes 
meat  The  clean  white-oak  chips  made  splendid  fuel ; 
and,  though  there  were  plenty  of  them,  it  was  no  small 
job  to  keep  a  full  supply  in  cold  weather.  I  did  not 
always  go  to  my  task  willingly,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  and 
would  sometimes  roar  like  a  "bull  of  Bashan"  when 
mother  sent  me  for  chips  if  I  was  not  in  the  mood.  I 
think  my  grandchildren  are  a  great  improvement  on 
their  grandfather  when  he  was  a  boy. 

My  brother  Albert  was  seven  years  older  than  I,  so 
that  our  playfellows  were  not  the  same.  He  fraternized 
with  the  big  boys,  I  with  the  smaller  ones.  At  school 
they  used  to  call  us  "  Butt  and  Bill,"  for  short.  All  the 
boys  were  nicknamed.  Our  district  school  was  a  very 
good  one,  care  being  taken  to  secure  good  teachers. 
We  had  about  four  months'  summer  school  and  three 
months'  winter.  This  gave  long  vacations.  But  my 
school-days  were  very  happy,  as  was,  indeed,  my  whole 
boyhood.  Within  an  eighth  of  a  mile  were  two  great 
attractions :  one,  London  Hill,  grandly  steep  for  slid- 


22  Autobiography 

ing;  the  other,  Thatcher's  Pond,  a  glorious  place  for 
sailing  boats  in  summer  and  sliding  and  skating  in 
winter.  On  one  side  of  it  was  a  high  hill,  slanting  down 
to  the  water's  edge.  When  sliding  was  good,  we  would 
start  from  the  top  of  the  hill,  and,  passing  swiftly  down, 
strike  the  smooth  ice  of  the  pond  and  shoot  across  it. 
It  was  real  fun.  We  little  folks  had  to  scamper,  when 
we  saw  a  sled  coming ;  and,  when  we  got  larger,  other 
little  folks  had  to  pay  their  obeisance  to  the  kings. 

Fortunately  for  our  peril  and  consequent  enjoyment, 
there  was  a  narrow  cart  way  about  half-way  down  the 
side  of  the  hill.  It  made  a  capital  "jump."  We  went 
over  it  with  an  exhilarating  bound.  Sometimes,  on 
moonlight  evenings,  the  larger  boys  would  take  Mr. 
Thatcher  Tilden's  ox-sled, — "  Old  Thatcher,"  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  we  all  called  him, —  they  would  take  his  ox- 
sled,  throw  the  heavy  tongue  back  on  the  bottom,  drag 
it  with  infinite  pains  and  by  main  strength  to  the  top  of 
the  hill,  and  load  it  with  boys,  heaping  them  up  into 
a  dome  of  squirming  and  shouting  life.  One  or  two 
stout  boys  would  keep  off  to  start  the  loaded  sled, 
jump  on,  and  steer.  Sometimes  a  good  deal  of  push- 
ing and  shouting — especially  shouting,  each  one  giv- 
ing orders  as  if  he  were  skipper  —  was  necessary  to 
start.  It  was  a  kind  of  launching  on  a  small  scale. 
Finally,  she  starts,  the  steerers  jump  on,  and  away  she 
goes,  increasing  her  speed  every  moment  with  her 
heavy  load,  so  that,  when  she  goes  over  the  "jump,"  she 
leaps  clear  of  the  ground  and  comes  down  with  a  whack 
that  scatters  the  little  fellows  on  top  over  the  snowy 
sides  of  the  hill,  and  rushes  on  with  all  who  can  hold 
their  grip  till  she  strikes  the  glassy  pond,  and  slides  on 


My  Boyhood  23 

away,  away  across  the  pond,  amid  shouts  such  as  fabled 
Bedlam  could  hardly  have  surpassed. 

There  I  learned  to  skate ;  and  such  a  time  as  I  had 
of  it,  and  such  skates !  My  first  were  little  low  irons, 
ground  down  on  one  side, —  for  what  I  never  knew,  ex- 
cept to  exercise  small  boys  in  tumbling.  These  were 
tied  on  with  strings.  In  a  year  or  two  I  graduated  into 
straps  and  buckles.  Perhaps  they  were  an  old  pair  that 
"  Butt"  had  outgrown  :  I  don't  remember.  But  at  last 
I  became  quite  skilful,  and  could  "cut  rings"  and 
"figure  eights"  and  "scull  backwards"  as  well  as  for- 
wards and  sidewise  with  any  of  them,  though  I  never 
was  an  expert. 

At  the  winter  school  the  big  boys  had  to  cut  all  the 
wood  that  was  burned  in  the  school-room.  The  wood 
was  dumped  in  the  yard,  and  a  delegation  of  boys  was 
selected  by  the  master  to  cut  and  split  and  pile  up  in 
the  shed.  To  get  appointed  on  this  outdoor  work  was 
regarded  as  a  great  favor.  It  was  such  a  relief  from 
over-exacting  studies  !  Our  chief  article  of  luxury  at 
school  recess  was  molasses  candy.  This  brought  a  uni- 
form price  of  one  cent  a  stick,  though,  when  molasses 
was  cheap  and  the  candy  merchant  generous,  we  may 
have  had  a  longer  or  thicker  stick.  At  first  there  were 
a  good  many  competitors  in  this  line  of  business ;  but, 
here  as  elsewhere,  genius  tells.  There  was  one  family 
that  had  a  real  genius  for  molasses  candy.  It  was 
always  nice,  well  pulled,  of  delicate  straw  color,  cut  in 
equal  lengths,  crisp,  and  brittle, —  just  the  kind  a  boy 
liked,  not  only  to  eat  for  himself,  but  to  give  to  the 
sweetest  girl  he  knew. 

I  remember  one    day  at  recess  I  had  a  nice  stick, 


24  Autobiography 

and  a  flock  of  not-at-all-diffident  girls  pressed  around  me 
with  "  Oh,  give  it  to  me,  give  it  to  me ! "  As  I  was 
holding  them  at  bay,  undecided  which  should  have  it, 
a  little  plump  hand  was  reached  out  from  behind  the 
door.  I  knew  the  hand,  though  all  else  was  hidden.  I 
slipped  the  candy  into  that  hand,  to  the  great  annoy- 
ance, no  doubt,  of  the  besiegers,  and  went  my  way. 
When  I  grew  to  manhood,  I  took  that  little  hand  in 
mine,  and  "  vowed  to  love,  cherish,  and  protect  as  long 
as  we  both  should  live."  'Tis  sweet,  modest  diffidence 
that  wins,  if  the  girls  only  knew  it. 

The  North  River  abounded  in  fish.  Eels  were 
caught  with  bobs  in  the  spring,  from  the  banks,  with 
pole  and  line,  and  in  winter  through  the  ice,  with 
spears  long  enough  to  reach  the  bottom  and  draw  them 
out  of  their  snug  winter  home.  Herrings  and  shad 
were  caught  in  abundance  in  seines,  in  the  spring  of 
the  year.  Perch  and  bass  were  not  very  plentiful,  but 
very  delicious ;  and  the  clam  banks  in  the  lower  reaches 
of  the  river,  near  the  sea,  yielded  an  abundance  of  very 
sweet  clams.  These  various  kinds  of  fish,  with  smelts, 
taken  by  hand  nets  from  the  herring  brooks,  formed  a 
large  part  of  our  food  in  winter-time.  Taken  right 
from  the  water,  with  mother  to  cook  them  at  an  open 
fire,  they  were  superb. 

The  method  of  fishing  for  bass  and  perch  through 
the  ice  was  peculiar.  A  large  round  hole  was  cut  over 
the  channel,  the  deepest  place  in  the  river,  where  the 
current  was  the  strongest  and  the  fish  most  likely  to 
swim.  Into  this  hole,  made  very  smooth  at  the  edge, 
was  dropped  a  net  attached  to  a  long  pole. 

The  iron  bow  to  which  the  net  was  attached  was 


My  Boyhood  25 

about  four  feet  in  diameter,  the  hole  in  the  ice 
about  five,  to  give  it  easy  play.  First,  the  net  was 
dropped,  as  fast  as  it  would  sink,  and  the  long  pole 
laid  flat  upon  the  ice ;  then  the  end  of  the  pole  farthest 
from  the  net  lifted  to  an  angle  of  about  forty-five  de- 
grees, and  the  net  run  down  till  it  touched  the  bottom. 
Then  the  end  with  the  pin  was  taken,  breast  high,  and 
swept  round  and  round,  the  pole  easily  slipping  round 
the  smooth-cut  edge,  the  fisher  making  a  circle  at 
about  ten  feet  distance,  like  the  path  of  a  horse  round 
a  cider-mill.  After  sweeping  round  about  a  dozen 
times, —  thirteen  is  a  lucky  number, —  the  long  pole  is 
drawn  up  and  laid  flat  on  the  ice,  so  that  the  bow  of 
the  net  will  lie  horizontal  with  the  surface  of  the  water 
in  the  hole.  It  was  fun,  while  the  net  was  in  this  posi- 
tion, its  contents  all  unknown,  to  go  and  lift  a  section 
of  the  net  with  thumb  and  finger,  to  judge  by  feeling 
the  twitches  what  sort  of  a  haul  had  been  made.  One 
soon  learned  to  tell  if  there  was  a  bass  in  the  net 
by  the  vigorous  jerk.  Perch  were  less  demonstrative, 
though  some  of  the  larger  ones  would  beguile  you  with 
the  hope  of  a  bass.  After  this  process  of  prophesying 
had  been  duly  indulged,  the  net  was  lifted  and  drawn 
out  upon  the  ice.  Perhaps  a  striped  bass  of  three  or 
four  pounds,  though  this  was  rare,  and  a  number  of 
shiny  perch,  which  was  more  common,  would  be  spilled 
out  upon  the  ice  or  picked  out  of  the  meshes  where 
they  had  caught.  This  fishing  was  all  done  by  night, 
and  at  certain  times  in  the  tide. 

After  I  got  large  enough,  I  used  to  help  father  in 
this  fishing.  So  we  made  a  tandem  team,  with  the  colt 
ahead.  Father  was  the  fill  horse,  and  held  the  pole  to 


26  AutobiograpJiy 

his  breast,  pushing  round  and  round  the  circle  made 
white  by  the  irons  attached  to  his  boots  to  keep  him 
from  slipping.  But  it  was  hard  pushing  against  the 
tide.  So  a  rope  was  attached  to  the  pole,  and,  taking 
the  end  over  my  shoulder,  I  planted  my  little  irons  in 
the  ice  and  pulled  away.  But  I  confess  I  liked  prophe- 
sying with  thumb  and  finger  better  than  pulling. 

Living  so  near  the  river,  I  early  became  expert  in 
the  use  of  boats.  Father  had  a  float,  as  he  called  it, — 
a  large  canoe,  which  was  very  easily  upset ;  but  I  soon 
learned  to  manage  it,  and  the  first  money  I  remember 
to  have  earned  was  for  paddling  men,  one  at  a  time, 
across  the  river  in  this  float.  There  was  a  toll  on  the 
bridge,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below;  and  carpenters  wish- 
ing to  take  a  short  cut  to  Marshfield  would  give  me  a 
cent  or  two  for  paddling  them  across.  So,  like  Vander- 
bilt,  I  began  my  business  career  with  "a  ferry-boat." 
But  here  the  resemblance  ends.  When  a  little  older,  I 
worked  for  the  neighbors  in  haying-time,  raking  scat- 
terings and  stowing  away  on  the  load  and  haymow,  at 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar  a  day.  That  was  good  wages. 
But  the  season  for  such  exorbitant  pay  was  short. 

I  well  remember  my  first  experience  of  outside  fish- 
ing,—  outside  the  beach.  Father  was  in  the  habit  of 
going  out  in  the  bay  for  cod  and  haddock,  in  spring 
and  fall.  It  seemed  to  me  very  attractive,  and  I  begged 
to  go  out  with  him  next  time.  He  consented,  to  my 
great  delight.  We  took  a  large  whale-boat,  and,  with 
four  or  five  men  and  stores  for  two  days,  we  rowed 
down  the  river  to  the  beach  for  the  night,  and  went  up 
to  a  barn  on  the  cliff,  a  corner  of  which  was  made  into 
a  house  occupied  by  "old  Hyland."  There  we  ate  our 


My  Boyhood  27 

supper,  and  bunked  for  the  night  on  his  soft  haymow. 
As  soon  as  the  day  broke,  we  were  up  and  off  to  our 
boat,  stowing  snugly  away  our  water-keg,  lines,  and 
reels,  and  superfluous  garments,  shipping  the  oars  all 
ready  for  use.  The  men  then  seized  the  boat  by  the 
gunwale  on  either  side,  and  slid  her  down  the  sandy 
beach  to  the  surf. 

There  was  no  land  between  us  and  Europe,  so  that 
an  east  wind  set  into  the  bay  with  great  force,  and 
sometimes  the  breakers  were  so  high  as  to  make  a 
launch  through  them  difficult.  A  sea  would  strike  the 
bow  of  the  boat  on  one  side  and  throw  her  round 
broadside  to  the  beach  and  swamp  her.  But  this 
morning  the  wind  was  inshore  and  the  breakers  moder- 
ate. Running  the  bow  of  the  boat  a  little  way  into 
the  foamy  surf,  the  men  rested  and  waited  for  a  good 
time  to  launch.  "  Now  is  the  time,  boys  !  Let  her 
run!"  Father  jumps  in  and  seizes  the  steering  oar. 
Then  strong  men  on  either  side  wade  in  and  push  the 
boat  till,  just  as  she  clears  her  keel  from  the  beach, 
they  spring  in,  out  oars,  and  with  a  few  strokes  there 
we  are,  the  surf  in  a  wreath  of  white  foam  behind  us, 
and  three  thousand  miles  of  briny  deep  before  us. 
And,  though  we  didn't  propose  going  so  far,  yet  to  the 
little  shaver  cuddled  down  in  the  bow  it  was  a  memo- 
rable occasion,  his  first  voyage  to  sea.  Oh,  how 
delightfully  the  lapstreak  boat  rose  and  fell  with  roll- 
ing waves ! 

There  were  certain  places  two  or  three  miles  from 
shore  where  the  best  fishing  was  supposed  to  be  found. 
These  were  indicated  by  certain  objects  on  shore. 
When  old  Hyland's  barn  was  in  range  with  some- 


28  Autobiography 

thing  on  the  hills,  and  Scituate  light-house  with  some- 
thing else,  then  we  could  ship  our  oars  and  drop  our 
stone  kedge.  Now  we  are  still.  The  boat  swings  to 
the  wind.  We  pack  the  oars  close  to  the  gunwale, 
stow  things  snug,  bait  our  hooks  with  the  clams  dug 
the  afternoon  before,  and  throw  over  our  leads.  Away 
they  run,  ten  fathom,  twenty  fathom,  when  we  feel 
the  lead  strike  the  bottom.  The  seines  attached  to 
the  lead  and  holding  the  baited  hooks  are  about  two 
feet  long.  So  we  haul  up  the  lead  about  two  feet,  that 
the  bait  may  rest  on  the  bottom.  They  don't  bite  at 
once.  So  we  can  take  a  view  of  the  shore.  How 
strange  the  cliffs  look  from  the  outside, — like  a  half- 
loaf  of  brown  bread  with  cut  side  to  the  sea,  as  mother 
used  to  put  it  to  the  fire  to  toast  for  my  milk!  And  the 
beach, —  how  low  it  looked,  the  surf  all  gone  !  Father 
sits  in  the  stern  sheets,  and  draws  his  line  up  and 
clown.  Ha  !  a  rub  !  a  nibble  !  a  bite !  Father's  face 
glows,  he  stands  up,  pulls  away  hand  over  hand,  till  by 
and  by  we  see  the  fish  gleaming  and  whirling  fathoms 
below;  and  now  over  the  gunwale  it  comes, —  a  fine  cod 
right  from  the  briny  deep. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  first  fish  ! " 

And  now  another  and  another.  I  don't  remember 
whether  I  caught  any  or  not.  I  soon  lost  my  ambition. 
Somehow  I  grew  pensive.  I  thought  of  home  and 
the  nice  shagbarks  I  gathered  the  day  before  under 
the  shady  walnut-trees.  I  almost  wished  I  hadn't 
come.  I  didn't  like  outside  fishing.  I  hauled  in  my 
line :  the  bait  was  gone.  I  had  had  a  bite  without 
knowing  it.  I  lay  back  on  the  thwart.  I  looked  into 
the  blue  sky.  It  didn't  look  handsome  as  it  used  to  at 


My  Boyhood  29 

home.  I  closed  my  eyes.  Suddenly  a  peculiar  sensa- 
tion. I  threw  my  head  over  the  gunwale.  My  break- 
fast was  gone  :  I  felt  better.  I  raised  my  head.  Oh, 
how  lovely  the  shore  looked  !  Should  I  ever  tread  it 
again  ?  And  again  the  beauty  faded  from  shore  and 
sky.  Again  to  the  gunwale,  and  whatever  was  left  of 
breakfast  was  given  without  a  murmur  to  old  Neptune. 
But  how  could  I  stand  it  ?  It  was  only  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  we  should  not  go  in  till  the  afternoon. 
Could  I  live  ?  It  didn't  seem  to  me  that  I  could.  So  I 
begged  father  to  set  me  ashore,  and  I  would  stay  on  the 
beach  till  they  came.  The  indulgent  man  consented; 
and,  the  other  men  being  sympathetic,  they  hauled  up 
our  kedge,  rowed  in,  and  landed  me  on  the  beach. 

Oh,  what  a  happy  creature  was  I  when  my  feet 
touched  the  golden  sand  !  The  boat  pushed  off  again, 
and  left  me  there  to  roam  up  and  down  the  surf- 
smoothed,  sandy  floor,  to  gather  shells  and  kelp  and 
bits  of  driftwood  tossed  ashore  from  the  vasty  deep. 
At  last,  as  the  sun  began  to  cast  a  longer  shadow  east- 
ward, I  saw  the  little  speck  of  a  boat,  away  off  yon- 
der, moving  toward  me.  Now  I  could  see  the  fleck  of 
the  oars,  now  seethe  men,  now  see  father  at  the  helm, 
now  hear  their  voices.  Now  I  was  bold  as  a  lion. 
I  could  rush  into  the  surf  to  help  haul  the  boat  ashore, 
and  hurrah  with  the  loudest  over  the  fine  fare  of  fish 
we  had  caught.  But  I  didn't  ask  to  go  the  next  time. 


IV. 
BOYHOOD. 

1822-1824. 

MY  FATHER. —  MADAME  GUSHING. —  DEATH  OF  PLAYFELLOW. 
—  GRANDFATHER  TILDEN. —  OLD  CHURCH. —  GRIST-MILL. — 
GRANDFATHER  BROOKS. 

THOUGH  we  had  but  little  land,  we  kept  a  cow  and 
hired  her  pastured.  I  was  cow-boy,  and  responsible 
for  finding  and  bringing  her  home  at  night.  One  after- 
noon, I  remember,  a  tempest  came  up.  I  went  for 
the  cow,  found  her ;  and,  as  I  was  driving  her  home, 
the  chain  lightning  ran  in  brilliant  crinkles  along  the 
ground,  so  close  as  nearly  to  touch  my  feet.  I  do  not 
remember  to  have  seen  the  phenomenon  since. 

Every  autumn  father  laid  in  his  winter  store, — pota- 
toes, beef,  and  pork  enough  for  the  year.  When  he 
killed  his  beef  and  pork,  I  remember  how  he  always 
selected  some  nice  pieces  for  certain  neighbors,  not 
very  well  off,  and  sent  them  around.  Dear  man,  his 
heart  was  always  larger  than  his  means.  He  was  a 
great  gunner,  a  fine  shot ;  but,  while  he  generally 
brought  home  a  good  lot  of  birds,  he  derived  more 
pleasure  than  profit  from  his  gunning. 

One  of  the  fine  old  places  in  Scituate  was  Madame 
Cushing's,  in  the  centre  of  the  town.  Her  husband, 
Judge  William  Gushing,  was  a  relative  of  Judge  Nathan 


Boyhood  3 1 

Gushing,  who  gave  my  brother  his  suit  of  velvet.  He 
was  quite  distinguished  in  his  day, —  the  friend  of  Wash- 
ington, and  selected  by  him  for  one  of  the  Justices  of 
the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  at  the  organi- 
zation of  the  government.  He  died  before  I  was  born, 
but  his  widow  continued  to  live  on  the  place.  She  was 
a  lady  of  the  old  school,  who  had  been  accustomed  to 
the  best  society.  She  was  known  always  as  "Madame 
Gushing";  and  her  fine  old  mansion  and  beautiful 
grounds  were  a  delight  to  my  boyish  eyes.  There  was 
no  place  like  it  in  town.  Then,  too,  she  was  generous 
to  us  boys,  and  at  cherry  time  would  invite  us  into  her 
beautiful  garden,  and  give  us  the  free  range  of  her 
magnificent  "black-heart"  cherry-trees,  the  largest  and 
finest  I  ever  saw.  But  a  boy's  stomach,  though  capa- 
cious, has  its  natural  limits ;  and  I  remember  with 
shame  how,  on  one  of  these  generous  treats,  I  over- 
stepped those  limits,  and  lost  my  relish  ever  after  for 
that  most  delicious  fruit. 

When  eleven  or  twelve,  I  met  with  my  first  great 
sorrow  in  the  death  of  a  dear  playfellow, —  Harry  Gush- 
ing. He  was  a  little  older  than  I ;  but  we  were  neigh- 
bors, went  to  the  same  school,  joined  in  the  same  plays, 
and  he  was  very  dear  to  me.  Indeed,  he  was  dear  to 
all  his  playfellows, —  a  general  favorite.  He  got  acci- 
dentally injured,  and  died  of  lockjaw.  His  death  made 
a  great  impression  upon  me.  It  waked  my  better  nat- 
ure, and  started  deep  resolves  for  a  new  life.  Our 
minister  was  deeply  moved  at  the  funeral ;  and  I  re- 
member to  this  day  some  of  the  things  he  said  in  his 
prayer. 

It  was  customary  to  select  pall-bearers  from  among 


32  A  n  tobiograpJiy 

those  near  the  same  age.  I  was  one  of  them.  Before 
starting  in  the  funeral  procession,  we  boys  were  invited 
into  a  small  room  to  take  something  to  drink.  It  was 
the  custom  of  the  time,  and  we  thought  nothing  of  it. 
Its  omission  would  have  been  regarded  as  a  lack  of 
courtesy.  But  Harry,  dear  Harry !  How  truly  we 
mourned  for  him  !  I  think  his  going  was  an  epoch  in 
my  religious  life.  It  made  me  thoughtful, —  the  first 
step  in  the  upward  path. 

Soon  after  we  moved  to  the  new  house,  father  and 
his  brother — Uncle  Jotham  —  built  a  fishing  schooner 
for  Captain  Josiah  Ryder,  of  Chatham.  The  captain 
stayed  at  our  house  some  time  while  the  vessel  was 
being  finished.  He  was  the  tallest  man  I  had  ever 
seen.  Indeed,  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  saw  a  taller  man 
out  of  "Barnum's  Greatest  Show  on  Earth."  He  was 
six  feet  and  —  I  don't  know  how  many  inches.  His 
long  boots,  worn  over  his  pants  and  coming  up  to  his 
knees,  were  enormous.  I  used  sometimes  to  try  one 
on  before  he  was  up  in  the  morning. 

The  captain  was  as  good  as  he  was  tall.  He  was 
a  fervent  Methodist,  and  used  to  sing  with  enthusiasm 
the  Methodist  tunes  then  current.  The  chorus  of  one 
of  them  became  quite  popular  with  us  children,  and  ran 
thus  :  — 

"  Through  grace,  free  grace, 
Through  grace,  free  grace, 
To  all  the  Jews  and  Gentile  race.'; 

We  had  little  idea  then  of  the  Methodist  devotion  to 

"  free  "  grace ;  but  the  tune  sung  itself,  and  we  liked  it. 

At   that  time   my  oldest  sister  was  a  pretty  black- 


Boyhood  33 

eyed  girl  of  about  sweet  sixteen,  and  the  schooner  was 
named  for  her,  "Philenda." 

A  young  sailor  captain  came  to  take  charge  of  her,  by 
the  name  of  Godfrey, —  Captain  George  Godfrey.  He 
was  a  fine  young  man,  handsome,  good,  promising  in 
every  respect.  Dear  fellow,  he  was  lost  soon  after. 
He  was  coming  in  to  Chatham  with  a  full  freight,  and 
foundered  on  Polluck  Rip.  All  perished.  But  Hfe  left 
a  sweet,  sad  memory  in  our  home. 

My  grandfather,  Deacon  Samuel  Tilden,  lived  in 
Marshfield,  near  Gravelly  Beach,  about  a  mile  above  the 
Block  House.  He  was  a  direct  descendant  from  Elder 
Nathaniel,  and  inherited  land  held  in  the  family  since 
1640.  The  situation  of  the  old  house  was  beautiful, 
with  hills  on  the  east  and  the  winding  river  and  fertile 
meadows  on  the  west.  My  grandfather  was  a  very  old 
man  when  I  was  a  boy.  He  was  nearly  blind  for  many 
of  the  latter  years  of  his  life.  I  used  frequently  to  be 
sent  over  the  river  and  through  the  pastures  to  his 
house,  on  an  errand.  He  was  a  dear,  good  old  man 
whom  everybody  loved.  How  plainly  I  can  see  him,  in 
a  woollen  cap  to  cover  his  bald  head,  and  green  -baize 
dressing-gown  !  He  was  a  small  man,  with  a  kindly 
face  and  large,  full  eye.  He  had  no  stoop  in  his  old 
age,  but  was  straight  as  an  arrow.  He  was  slow  of 
speech  ;  and  his  voice  was  thin,  but  tender  and  loving. 
When  I  went  in,  he  would  call  me  to  him,  and,  laying 
his  hand  on  my  head,  would  say  :  "  Who's  this  ?  'Tain't 
William,  is  it  ? "  He  always  guessed  right,  blind  as  he 
was  ;  for  he  knew  the  voices  of  his  grandchildren.  He 
lived  to  be  about  ninety-four,  and  died  universally  es- 
teemed. He  had  ten  children,  nine  sons  and  one 
daughter.  My  father  was  the  seventh  son. 


34  Autobiography 

My  uncle  Jotham,  father's  partner  in  ship-building, 
lived  just  over  the  river  on  a  hill  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away.  He  had  a  family  of  four  sons  and  two  daughters. 
They  attended  church  with  us  at  Scituate.  And  it  was 
a  pretty  sight  to  my  young  eyes  to  see  them  winding 
along,  in  their  best  attire,  down  the  hill  to  the  river,  on 
a  Sunday  morning,  and  across  in  the  large,  flat-bottomed 
boat  Tnade  for  the  occasion.  Landing  on  our  side,  they 
would  come  up  by  our  house,  where  we  would  join  them, 
and  all  walk  up  through  the  pastures  to  the  main  road 
together,  and  then  a  third  of  a  mile  further,  to  the  old 
church  on  the  hill,  the  sweet-toned  bell  all  the  time 
calling:  "Come!  Come!  Come!" 

On  the  roadside  the  sweet  fern  grew  in  great  abun- 
dance. I  used  to  pluck  it  and  chew  it,  as  the  disciples 
did  the  ears  of  corn  on  the  Sabbath  day.  Even  now, 
whenever  I  taste  in  the  country  that  fragrant  shrub, 
I  am  carried  back  to  those  Sunday  mornings  when  I 
plucked  it  on  my  way  to  church. 

In  the  church  we  had  the  old-fashioned  square  pews 
of  the  period,  with  high  backs  to  break  the  draught, 
hiding  the  inmates  from  the  view  of  all  but  the  minister, 
who  could  look  down  from  his  lofty  pulpit,  and  see  if  all 
his  sheep  and  lambs  were  in  their  pens.  Round  the 
tops  of  these  high-backed  pews  there  was  a  sort  of 
frieze  of  open  work,  four  or  six  inches  wide,  divided  into 
narrow  spaces  by  turned  pieces  of  hard  wood  held  by 
a  rail  above  and  below.  This  seemed  made  for  the 
children  to  peep  through,  the  little  turned  uprights 
offering  a  great  temptation  to  try  to  see  how  far  they 
could  be  twisted  round  without  squeaking.  Of  course, 
we  could  not  tell  till  they  did  squeak  ;  and  then  — well, 


Boyhood  35 

we  mustn't  do  it  again.  But,  then,  how  could  we  keep 
our  hands  off  ?  The  little  rollers  seemed  to  have  been 
made  to  turn  and  to  squeak.  The  seats  all  round  the 
four-sided  pews  were  without  cushions,  and  hung  on 
hinges,  so  as  to  turn  up  and  make  easy  standing  during 
prayers,  when  every  one  stood  up.  Such  an  indecency 
as  sitting  during  prayer  had  not  then  been  heard  of. 
When  at  last  the  long  prayer  was  over,  along  with  and 
drowning  the  "Amen  "  of  the  minister,  slam,  bang,  slam, 
bang,  went  the  seats  all  round  the  church,  up  and  down 
the  long  aisles  and  across  the  short  ones,  like  the  sharp 
report  of  a  platoon  of  soldiers  on  muster-day  trying  to 
fire  all  together,  but  missing  it.  We  had  no  stove  in 
church,  even  in  coldest  weather.  Mother  used  to 
bring  with  her  a  little  foot-stove,  with  hard-wood  coals 
taken  from  the  home  fireplace. 

Right  under  the  pulpit  there  was  a  long,  narrow  pew 
where  the  two  deacons  sat.  They  were  literally  under 
the  droppings  of  the  sanctuary.  The  communion  table 
was  a  wide  shelf,  or  leaf,  hung  on  hinges  to  the  front  of 
this  pew,  being  lifted  only  when  the  table  was  spread. 

Near  the  pulpit,  on  the  right  of  the  broad  aisle,  were 
a  few  long  pews,  with  oak  backs  and  seats,  for  such  old 
men  as  were  too  poor  to  hire  seats  ;  and  on  the  left-hand 
side  the  same  provision  was  made  for  poor  old  women. 
There  was  a  wide  gallery  on  three  sides  of  the  church, 
where  the  seats  were  free ;  and  above  that,  in  the 
farthest  corner,  a  little  box,  a  sort  of  crow's  nest  for 
the  colored  people,  of  whom  there  were  several  families 
in  our  part  of  the  town. 

The  bell  was  rung  on  a  floor  high  up  in  the  tower, 
and  from  that  floor  there  was  a  single  square  of  glass 


36  Autobiography 

away  up  close  to  the  ceiling  of  the  church  through 
which  the  sexton  could  look  and  see  when  the  minister 
was  in  the  pulpit.  Then,  with  three  strokes  of  the  bell, 
all  was  silent,  or  supposed  to  be ;  for  the  people  kept 
coming  in  for  some  time  after  the  minister  was  ready 
to  begin.  The  fashion  was  to  stay  round  the  church 
door,  outside  or  inside,  talking  of  national  or  neighbor- 
hood matters,  the  vessels  on  the  stocks,  the  condition  of 
the  crops,  etc.,  till  the  minister  was  in  his  place.  And 
it  was  not  all  irreverence.  Sunday  was  the  only  day  in 
the  week  they  met,  and  the  meeting-house  the  only 
place  of  rendezvous ;  and,  as  theology  was  never  a  sub- 
ject of  much  contention  in  our  parish,  they  talked  on 
the  subjects  of  most  pressing  interest. 

The  choir  occupied  seats  right  in  front  of  the  pulpit  ; 
and,  as  the  pulpit  was  on  the  side  of  the  church,  not 
the  end,  as  is  now  the  fashion,  the  singers  and  the 
preacher  were  not  far  apart.  Of  course,  we  had  no 
organ  or  melodeon.  The  time  for  such  instruments  in 
country  churches  had  not  yet  come.  But  we  had  a 
bass-viol  and  a  double-bass,  a  flute,  a  clarinet,  and 
some  other  instruments.  For  the  rest  we  depended  on 
human  voices.  And  fine  voices  some  of  them  were. 
My  aunt  Lucy  Brooks  sang  very  sweetly.  And  one 
man  by  the  name  of  Oldham,  who  stuttered  most  dis- 
tressingly in  common  conversation,  had  a  splendid 
tenor  voice,  and  sang  like  an  angel. 

Our  minister,  too,  Rev.  Samuel  Deane,  was  a  superb 
singer.  On  one  of  the  Forefathers'  celebrations  at 
Plymouth,  he  was  selected  to  sing  "The  breaking 
waves  dashed  high."  That  he  did  it  grandly  all  who 
had  heard  him  sing  in  his  own  church  will  easily  believe. 


Boyhood  37 

He  knew  so  much  of  music  that  he  was  inde- 
pendent of  the  choir,  and  would  strike  in  in  unex- 
pected places  and  sing  round  them,  always  in  perfect 
harmony.  The  choir,  half  through  a  line,  would  hear 
his  voice,  clear  and  musical,  begin  at  the  beginning, 
give  each  syllable  in  distinct  enunciation,  and,  bound- 
ing over  the  spaces,  come  out  with  them  on  the  last 
word  in  time  and  tune  as  perfect  as  if  he  had  been 
with  them  from  the  beginning.  It  was  a  sort  of  musi- 
cal sleight-of-hand  that  I  never  fully  understood,  but 
greatly  enjoyed. 

A  word  more  of  the  old  bell  that  hung  in  the  open 
belfry,  with  wheel  and  rope  exposed  to  all  weather.  I 
hardly  know  why  I  loved  that  bell  so  well,  for  its  tones 
were  not  all  happy.  It  sometimes  had  a  "sweetly 
solemn  sound,"  especially  on  week-days.  On  Sundays 
it  sent  forth  a  joyous  call  for  worship  "over  the  hills 
and  far  away,"  as  if  there  were  an  angel  in  the  belfry 
singing  "Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow,"  "I 
was  glad  when  they  said  unto  me,  Come,  let  us  go  up 
to  the  house  of  the  Lord."  But,  whenever  we  heard  it 
on  a  week-day,  it  startled  us.  We  knew  it  meant  that 
somebody  had  died.  It  was  the  custom  in  early  morn- 
ing, after  a  death,  to  give  the  sad  intelligence  by  the 
bell.  It  was  the  quickest  and  the  most  fitting  way  to 
do  it.  Whether  it  was  a  child  or  man  or  woman  was 
indicated  by  certain  strokes  of  the  bell.  Then,  after  a 
short  pause,  if  it  was  an  adult,  the  age  would  be  tolled, 
giving  as  many  strokes  as  the  person  had  lived  years. 
As  soon  as  the  solemn  sounds  had  ceased,  began  the 
subdued  inquiry,  "  Who  can  it  be  ? "  On  the  streets, 
in  the  stores,  in  the  fields,  in  the  ship-yards,  in  the 


38  Autobiography 

home,  "  Who  can  it  be  ? "  I  remember  being  out  in 
the  pasture  one  morning, —  perhaps  I  had  been  to  drive 
the  cow, —  when  the  bell  began  to  strike  the  age.  I 
started  to  run  home,  counting  as  I  ran,  to  be  the  first  to 
tell,  and  join  the  wonder,  "  Who  can  it  be  ? "  Precious 
old  bell !  I  remember  how  tame  and  flat  other  bells 
in  the  towns  around  seemed  when  I  first  heard  them. 

In  front  of  the  old  church,  not  far  from  the  door, 
was  a  horse-block  for  those  who  rode  to  meeting  horse- 
back, on  pillions  behind  their  husbands.  But  most 
came  in  open  wagons  or  walked.  There  were  but  few 
chaises  in  town.  One  second-hand  barouche,  I  remem- 
ber, created  quite  a  sensation. 

The  old  grist-mill  was  one  of  the  institutions  of  my 
boyhood.  It  was  a  shackly  old  mill,  with  a  small 
pond,  dry  a  part  of  the  year ;  but  it  did  most  of  the 
grinding  of  corn  and  rye  in  our  neighborhood.  It  was 
not  far  from  father's,  across  lots ;  and  I  was  frequently 
sent  with  a  half-bushel  on  my  back  to  get  it  ground. 
The  rocks  in  the  pond  served  as  a  gauge  of  its  capac- 
ity. If  the  "bushel  rock"  was  just  in  sight,  the  old 
miller  could  grind  a  bushel ;  and  so  down  to  the  "peck 
rock."  When  that  showed  its  brown  head,  only  a  peck 
could  be  ground.  Below  the  "peck  rock,"  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  leave  your  grist  and  wait  for  a 
shower.  The  old,  dark  flume,  the  rickety  old  gate, 
lifted  by  a  lever,  the  black  wheel  whirling  around  in 
a  tub  away  down  below,  were  all  deep  mysteries  to  my 
boyhood.  What  if  I  should  fall  into  the  flume,  go 
through  the  gate,  round  the  wheel  in  the  tub, —  how 
much  of  me  would  there  be  left  ?  The  hopper-room, 
where  the  grists  were  left  to  wait  their  turn,  was  on  a 


Boyhood  39 

level  with  the  dam,  over  which  the  cart-path  passed. 
In  the  next  room  below  was  a  long  wooden  trough, 
breast  high,  into  which  the  meal  came  down.  There 
the  old  miller,  "  Uncle  Tom,"  used  to  stand,  letting  the 
meal  pass  through  his  fingers  to  test  its  fineness.  If 
too  coarse,  he  would  turn  a  screw  over  the  trough  and 
let  the  stones  come  closer  together.  If  too  fine,  the 
screw  would  lift  the  upper  stone.  How  often  have  I 
stood  and  watched  and  wondered  !  There  were  gener- 
ally a  number  of  bags  in  the  hopper-room  waiting  their 
turn,  "  first  come,  first  served,"  being  the  rule.  This 
story  used  to  be  told  of  a  little  grandson  of  Uncle 
Tom.  The  child's  father  loved  a  joke,  and,  when  he 
sent  his  boy  to  mill  for  the  first  time,  he  told  him  he 
was  sorry  to  say  that  his  grandpa  needed  watching, — 
that  he  had  been  known  to  take  a  small  portion  of  corn 
out  of  the  hopper  while  it  was  being  ground,  and  put 
it  aside  for  himself.  The  little  boy  thus  set  to  watch, 
and  knowing  nothing  of  toll,  kept  his  eye  closely  on 
his  grandpa.  When  he  got  home  with  his  grist,  his 
father  said,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  Well,  sonny, 
did  grandpa  take  any  of  it  ?"  "  Yes,  he  did  ;  but,  when 
he  went  below,  I  put  it  right  back  again."  I  don't 
know  whether  grandpa  ever  knew  that  he  ground  that 
grist  without  compensation.  Sometimes,  in  long 
droughts,  we  had  to  go  to  the  harbor,  four  miles  away, 
to  get  our  grain  ground  at  the  tide-mill  that  never 
failed. 

In  going  to  the  harbor,  we  passed  the  post-office 
near  the  centre  of  the  town.  It  was  kept  at  this  time 
by  a  respectable  old  farmer,  on  the  upper  shelf  of  his 
kitchen  closet,  in  a  box  about  large  enough  to  hold 


40  Autobiography 

seven  pounds  of  sugar.  The  mail  came  once  a  week, 
I  think  ;  and  the  letters  were  safely  boxed  till  called  for, 
when  the  postage  must  be  paid.  Neither  envelopes 
nor  stamps  were  then  known.  Nothing  was  prepaid, 
and  the  postage  was  high,  depending  on  the  distance. 
Twenty-five  cents  was  often  paid  for  letters.  Many 
curious  and  ingenious  methods  were  adopted  for  fold- 
ing letters  so  as  to  give  space  for  the  largest  amount  of 
writing  without  a  word  showing  on  the  outside.  All 
this  ingenuity  lost  its  stimulus  when  the  envelope 
came  into  use. 

In  1822  my  sister  Philenda,  then  twenty,  was  mar- 
ried to  a  young  man, —  Joseph  Bond, —  a  druggist  from 
Boston,  who  had  come  to  Scituate  to  visit  a  relative. 
He  saw  Philenda,  and  fell  in  love  with  her,  as  well  he 
might ;  for  she  was  very  handsome,  and  as  smart  as 
she  was  good-looking.  She  did  not  care  for  him  at 
first,  and  once,  I  remember,  when  she  saw  him  coming, 
ran  away  from  him,  jumped  over  a  gap  in  the  wall,  and 
went  into  the  school  she  was  then  teaching,  some  dis- 
tance away.  Perhaps  he  didn't  know  why  the  bird  had 
flown.  But  he  believed  "faint  heart  never  won  fair 
lady,"  and  persevered  till  he  won.  And  as  kind  and 
pure  and  noble  husband  he  made  as  ever  a  woman  had. 
He  settled  as  a  druggist  in  Waltham,  Mass. ;  and  the 
visits  I  used  to  make  to  their  new  home,  so  tasteful  and 
neat,  are  among  the  pleasant  memories  of  my  boyhood. 

I  have  totd  you  of  Grandpa  Tilden  :  let  me  tell  you 
also  of  Grandpa  Brooks,  mother's  father.  Captain 
William  Brooks,  as  he  was  called,  lived  nearly  opposite 
Grandpa  Tilden,  on  the  Scituate  side  of  the  North  River. 
His  children  were :  William,  Sally,  Seth,  Philenda, —  that 


Boyhood  41 

was  mother, —  Temperance,  Elijah,  Lucy,  and  Nathan. 
All  married  but  Lucy.  She  was  a  favorite  maiden  aunt, 
the  one  who  sang  in  the  choir  so  sweetly.  Mother 
used  frequently  to  take  me  with  her  when  she  went  to 
see  her  father ;  and  it  was  a  charming  place  to  visit. 
There  was  a  sweet  and  never-failing  well  on  the  hill- 
side near  the  house,  and  the  water  was  brought  down 
in  an  open  wooden  spout.  I  loved  especially  to  go 
there  in  the  autumn,  for  there  were  two  immense  pear- 
trees  whose  fruit  was  delicious.  The  apples  were  good, 
but  the  pears  were  the  never-to-be-forgotten  luxury. 
My  mouth  waters  at  the  remembrance  of  them. 
Grandpa  Brooks  was  a  ship-carpenter,  as  nearly  all 
were, —  a  large,  rosy-cheeked  man,  of  an  English  build. 
He  owned  a  large  farm,  and  worked  on  the  land  as  well 
as  in  the  ship-yard.  I  was  a  small  boy  when  he  died. 


V. 
BOYHOOD. 

1824-1832. 

FIRST  LEAVING  HOME  —  SCHOONER  "HOPE."  —  GREAT  STORM. 

—  "RISING    MIDDLE."  —  SOUTH-WEST    HARBOR,    MT.   DE- 
SERT.—  ROXANNA. —  HIGH     LINE.  —  MACKEREL    FISHING, 
SEINES,  TRAILING,  JIGGERING,  DRESSING  AND  SALTING  THE 
MACKEREL. —  COOKING. —  STORES. —  PRESERVED  BLOATERS. 

—  PACKING  DAY. —  LEARNING  TRADE. — TWENTY-ONE. 

THE  summer  I  was  thirteen  was  eventful  to  me,  as 
it  was  that  summer  I  first  left  home, —  not  for  a  long 
season,  but  long  enough  to  be  an  event  in  my  home 
life. 

Mackerel  fishing  at  that  time  was  a  great  source  of 
revenue  among  the  coast  towns,  from  Portland  on  the 
North  shore  to  Plymouth  and  Provincetown  on  the 
South.  Scituate  Harbor,  Cohasset,  and  Hingham  Cove, 
each  fitted  out  a  large  fleet.  It  was  an  honorable  and, 
at  times,  quite  lucrative  calling, —  not  quite  equal  in 
dignity  to  "going  to  sea,"  but  a  step  in  a  nautical 
direction.  As  I  had  picked  chips  for  years  from  the 
yard  where  father  had  built  fishing  vessels,  I  seemed 
foreordained  to  the  calling. 

A  favorite  skipper,  sober  and  kind,  in  whom  mother 
had  confidence,  lived  in  the  neighborhood.  I  wanted 
to  go  with  him,  and  she  consented.  So  I  shipped  as 


Boyhood  43 

"  monkey."  The  smallest  boy  on  board  had  the  poor- 
est place  to  fish  assigned  to  him,  and  was  called  "mon- 
key." It  was  an  appropriate  name. 

When  it  was  decided  that  I  was  to  go,  then  came  the 
fitting  out.  I  must  have  a  pea-jacket,  with  pants  to 
match,  red  flannel  shirts,  cowhide  boots,  and  a  tar- 
paulin hat. 

All  but  the  boots  mother  made  with  her  own  hands. 
If  I  was  a  little  proud  in  my  new  rig,  it  was  only 
because  I  was  human  and  susceptible  to  human  ambi- 
tions. We  sailed  from  Hingham  in  the  schooner 
"Beaver,"  owned  by  Thomas  Loring,  Esq., —  "Old  Tom" 
we  irreverently  called  him, —  a  fine-looking  old  man, 
wearing  short-clothes,  and  plated  buckles  on  knees  and 
shoes.  Hingham  Cove  was  about  eight  or  nine  miles 
from  our  house,  but  we  used  to  walk  back  and  forth,  car- 
rying our  bundles.  We  went  over  the  mountain  road, 
as  it  was  called.  On  the  highest  point  there  was  a 
large  beech-tree  we  used  to  call  the  "  Half-way  Tree," 
where  we  could  rest  awhile  in  its  welcome  shade. 
After  the  "  Beaver "  was  fitted  out,  we  sailed  first  for 
Boston  to  "take  in  salt."  This  was  my  first  visit  to 
the  new  city.  It  received  its  city  charter  only  two 
years  before,  and  then  had  a  population  of  about  forty- 
five  thousand.  But  it  was  the  biggest  place  I  had  ever 
seen,  and  seemed  to  me  very  wonderful.  We  were 
rather  unfortunate  in  our  fishing  that  summer,  and  I 
had  nothing  coming  in  the  autumn,  but  it  was  a  mem- 
orable experience ;  and,  when  we  "  cleared  out,"  I  con- 
sidered myself  a  regular  "Old  Tar."  If  I  "rolled"  in 
walking  like  a  sailor,  and  "  trimmed  ship  "  and  went 
"in  stays"  and  "let  go  jib  sheets,"  and  cried,  "Helms 


44  Autobiography 

alee!"  and  "Land  ho!"  when  there  seemed  to  be  no 
occasion,  it  was  only  as  a  Freshman  in  college  talks  of 
Virgil  and  the  classics  to  his  mother,  on  his  first  home 
vacation. 

The  next  season  I  went  with  another  neighborhood 
skipper  in  an  old  schooner  called  "  Hope."  If  I  had 
known  as  much  about  vessels  then  as  I  did  afterwards, 
I  should  have  thought  "  Fear "  a  more  appropriate 
name ;  for  she  was  a  rickety  old  craft,  scarcely  sea- 
worthy, and  the  wonder  was  that  she  did  not  spill  us 
all  out  before  the  season  was  over.  She  was  a  long, 
low-decked  vessel  ;  and,  standing  on  the  quarter,  in  a 
heavy  sea  we  could  see  her  bend  and  twist  like  an  old 
basket  to  adjust  herself  to  the  waves.  And  yet  she 
carried  us  safely  through  one  of  the  severest  gales  I 
ever  experienced.  We  were  off  Sandy  Hook  as  the 
storm  began  to  brew,  and  our  mate  was  very  anxious  to 
run  in  for  the  night.  But  the  skipper  was  opposed,  and 
laid  her  head  off  shore,  into  the  gathering  storm.  Oh, 
how  homelike  the  houses  looked  on  the  shore  as  we 
left  them  behind  !  Soon  it  blew  a  gale,  so  that  we  had 
to  take  in  all  sail  save  a  close-reefed  foresail,  and  lay  to. 
Under  this  sail,  we  made  little  headway,  but  drifted 
almost  dead  to  leeward.  This  drift  was  nearly  in  a 
line  with  the  coast,  and  along  the  coast  lay  the  danger- 
ous Barnegat  Shoals.  We  could  not  tell  whether  we 
should  clear  them  or  not.  But  on  the  other  tack,  we 
should  be  sure  to  be  wrecked  ;  so  there  was  nothing  to 
do  but  to  keep  on,  and  take  whatever  might  come.  I 
rather  think  the  skipper  wished  now  he  had  taken 
counsel  and  gone  in  to  Sandy  Hook.  But,  of  course, 
he  didn't  say  it.  As  the  darkness  deepened,  the  gale 


Boyhood  45 

increased,  and  the  sea  swept  over  our  main  deck  so 
that  no  watch  could  stand  against  it.  Indeed,  watch 
was  useless,  for  nothing  could  be  seen  in  the  pitchy 
darkness.  Every  now  and  then  a  heavy  sea  would 
break  upon  the  quarter-deck  and  pour  down  the  gang- 
way. The  skipper  saw  we  were  entirely  helpless. 
The  helm  was  lashed  hard  down.  If  we  came  in  con- 
tact with  a  vessel,  there  was  no  help,  for  we  could  do 
nothing.  If  we  struck  on  the  reef  we  knew  we  were 
near,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  go  down. 
So  at  last  the  skipper  had  the  companion  way  closed 
and  fastened,  and  we  were  all  shut  in  below,  leaving 
the  crazy  old  basket  to  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and 
waves.  It  was  a  terrible  night.  Few  words  were 
spoken.  We  all  knew  the  danger.  The  sea  swept 
over  us  as  over  a  log.  Hour  after  hour  passed,  and 
still  we  did  not  strike.  The  old  hull  bent  and  twisted, 
but  did  not  break.  The  short  hours  came,  and  we  still 
lived.  At  last  there  was  a  lull.  We  opened  the  com- 
panion doors,  and  the  day  had  broken,  the  wind  was 
going  down,  the  sea  was  easier.  We  crawled  out,  one 
after  another,  on  deck,  holding  on  for  fear  of  being 
wrecked  or  blown  off.  The  wind  was  down,  the  danger 
was  over.  Dear  old  "Hope,"  —  she  was  well  named 
after  all.  She  had  brought  us  safely  through  the  gale, 
and  we  would  never  call  her  bad  names  again, —  never, 
no,  never ! 

Soon  there  was  a  dead  calm,  the  clouds  lifted,  and, 
when  the  next  breeze  sprung  up,  it  was  from  the  oppo- 
site point  of  the  compass,  and  we  saw  a  ship  coming 
toward  us  under  full  sail,  studding  sails  all  set,  as  if  she 
had  been  running  all  night  with  a  fair  wind  over 


46  Autobiography 

smooth  seas,  as  she  probably  had,  our  north-east  gale 
having  spent  itself  before  it  reached  her.  How  beau- 
tiful that  ship  looked,  —  a  white-winged  angel  coming 
with  a  message  of  joy  and  gladness  from  "  Him  who 
holdeth  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  "  ! 

When  we  had  caught  our  fare  of  fish,  we  went  into 
New  York  and  sold  them,  packing  them  in  Brooklyn. 
This  was  the  first  time  I  was  ever  in  New  York.  It 
was  in  the  summer  of  1825,  and  I  was  fourteen  years 
old.  Immense  as  the  city  then  seemed,  it  extended 
only  from  the  Battery  back  as  far  as  the  City  Hall. 
Brooklyn  was  a  quiet  suburb  of  summer  residences, 
with  extensive  and  beautiful  gardens.  The  ferry- 
boats, I  remember,  were  side-wheelers,  driven  by  tread- 
mill horse-power.  But  it  was  the  same  beautiful 
harbor  as  now,  and  even  then  alive  with  shipping. 

When  I  began  mackerel  fishing  at  thirteen,  I  had, 
of  course,  to  give  up  my  summer  school.  So  all  the 
schooling  I  had  after  that  was  about  three  months  in 
the  winter.  The  early  mackerel  fishing  off  Block  Isl- 
and and  the  Jersey  Coast,  was  not  profitable,  as  the 
fish  were  lean  and  brought  only  a  low  price.  So,  on 
my  third  summer,  I  waited  till  the  mackerel  were  fat- 
ter. I  then  shipped  with  a  smart  young  skipper  in  a 
vessel  named  "  Rising  Sun."  She,  too,  was  old  and 
crippled.  She  had  been  aground  in  early  life  and  got 
badly  hogged.  We  used  to  call  her  the  "  Rising  Mid- 
dle." In  this  humpbacked  craft  with  a  beautiful  name, 
my  fisherman's  luck  began  to  rise.  We  had  a  smart 
young  crew  to  match  our  skipper.  It  was  his  first 
season  as  captain.  He  was  ambitious,  he  was  a  driver, 
he  made  good  trips,  and  we  made  a  good  summer's 
work. 


BoyJiood  47 

We  caught  most  of  our  fish  wide  off  Mt.  Desert ;  and 
once,  I  remember,  we  went  in  to  the  South  West  Har- 
bor, so  noted  now  as  a  watering-place,  $pr  potatoes.  It 
is  one  of  the  finest  harbors  on  the  coast.  There  were 
only  a  few  huts  on  the  shore  then,  and  no  one  on  land 
or  sea  dreamed  of  the  beautiful  place  it  was  destined 
to  become.  Blueberries  were  in  their  prime,  and  the 
burned  fields  with  a  fresh  growth  of  low  bushes  were 
literally  covered  with  them.  But  in  substantial  deli- 
ciousness  they  were  cast  into  the  shade  by  the  potatoes. 
Growing  on  new  soil,  recently  burned  over,  they  were 
superb, —  especially  to  us  hungry  fishermen.  We  had 
some  finely  cured  salt  cod  on  board.  Boiled  cod,  with 
suck  potatoes,  was  a  luxury  beyond  description.  No 
circle  of  aldermen  ever  sat  down  to  a  Parker  House 
dinner  with  such  gustatory  satisfaction.  Those  new 
potatoes  went  with  us  all  through  the  trip,  and  were  an 
ever  new  source  of  pleasure  till  the  last  one  was  gone. 

The  next  summer  I  went  with  the  same  skipper. 
He  had  proved  himself  so  smart  that  the  same  owners 
gave  him  a  larger  vessel.  "  Roxanna  "  was  her  name. 
She,  too,  was  venerable  in  years,  but  stanch  and 
sound.  The  "  Rising  Sun,"  crooked  as  she  was,  was 
fleet  of  foot.  Few  went  by  us,  with  a  good  breeze ;  and 
she  would  ride  the  sea  as  easily  and  gracefully  as  a 
gull.  But  poor  old  "  Roxy  "  was  long  past  her  prime, 
and  from  never  being  swift  had  become  so  slow  that 
everything  went  by  us,  so  that  we  needed  a  watch  set 
over  taffrail  instead  of  the  bows,  as  the  danger  was  not 
in  running  over  anybody,  but  in  being  run  over.  In 
beating  to  windward  when  we  tried  to  go  in  stays,  "she 
would  bob  three  times  to  a  sea,  and  then  go  round  it." 


48  Aiitobiography 

It  was  her  courteous  way  of  doing  it.  There  was  little 
difference  between  her  bow  and  stern.  They  were 
both  modelled  for  repose,  not  motion,  suggesting  the 
fabled  method  of  building  ships  by  the  mile,  and  saw- 
ing off  any  required  length,  to  suit  the  purchasers. 
And  yet  in  that  clumsy  old  tub  we  were  high  line  in 
Scituate  that  summer,  packing  over  a  thousand  barrels. 
This  was  my  most  fortunate  season. 

The  next  year  I  went  with  a  brother  of  the  smart 
skipper  in  a  new  schooner  built  at  the  Block  House,  on 
which  I  had  worked.  She  was  called  the  "  Rival,"  and 
rivalled,  by  many  a  league,  all  the  vessels  I  had  thus 
far  sailed  in.  I  continued  this  summer  fishing  till  I 
was  about  twenty,  giving  the  rest  of  the  year  to  my 
trade  after  I  was  sixteen. 

But  I  will  not  follow  this  farther,  but  tell  you  a  little 
more  in  detail  of  the  mackerel  fishing.  Mackerel  have 
been  found  on  our  coast  from  its  first  discovery. 
There  is  probably  some  food  of  which  they  are  fond 
in  our  bays  and  on  our  banks.  They  migrate  in 
schools,  and  it  is  not  till  midsummer  and  autumn 
that  they 'are  taken  in  any  great  numbers  on  our  coast. 
The  aborigines  called  this  famous  fish  "Wawunneke- 
seag,"  a  big  word,  meaning  "  fatness,"  —  an  appropri- 
ate name,  for  in  its  prime  it  is  one  of  the  fattest  and 
most  delicious  of  fish. 

There  have  been  various  methods  of  taking  mackerel. 
At  first  they  were  taken  moonlight  nights,  with  seines. 
The  schools  rise  to  the  surface,  and,  as  they  break  the 
water  with  their  back  fins,  may  easily  be  seen.  In  the 
night  they  often  show,  also,  a  phosphorescent  gleam. 
Skilful  fishermen,  taking  out  their  nets  in  small  boats, 


Boyhood  49 

run  them  under  the  schools,  and  then,  gathering  in  the 
edges  of  the  net,  bag  them,  and  scoop  them  out  with 
hand  nets.  This  method  was  given  up  long  before  my 
day,  though  our  fishermen  have  returned  to  it  again 
of  late  years. 

After  this  method  came  what  was  called  "  trailing." 
The  vessel  was  put  under  easy  sail,  and  the  fishermen 
ranged  themselves  on  the  weather  side  and  let  their 
hooks,  with  light  sinkers,  trail  out  astern. 

But  trailing  had  its  day,  and  was  succeeded  by  jigger- 
ing,  which  was  the  uniform  method  during  my  fishing 
experience.  In  this  method  the  vessel  is  so  laid  to  the 
wind  as  to  have  no  headway  and  drift  square  off  to  lee- 
ward. The  fishermen  were  arranged,  as  in  trailing,  on 
the  weather  side,  their  small  jigs  thrown  square  out 
from  the  vessel's  side.  The  drift  dead  to  leeward 
tends  to  keep  them  out.  Still,  they  need  to  be  drawn 
in  and  thrown  out  often,  to  keep  them  near  the  surface. 
The  skipper's  place  was  the  first  abaft  the  main 
shrouds  ;  and  the  "  second  hand,"  or  mate,  was  the 
next,  forward.  The  one  farthest  aft  was  the  "  mon- 
key." Aside  from  these,  the  crew  shipped  for  par- 
ticular places,  those  of  largest  experience  getting  the 
best,  which  were  considered  the  nearest  midships. 

Mackerel  are  generally  dainty  and  shy.  A  stamp 
on  the  deck  will  make  a  whole  school  dart  like  a  flash. 
But  they  soon  return.  They  seem  to  be  very  sensitive 
to  sound.  Sometimes,  when  there  are  thousands  along- 
side, they  will  not  touch  a  hook ;  and  then  they  will  bite 
so  ravenously  that  every  line  will  be  straightened  at 
once,  and  the  one  most  skilful  in  hauling  in,  striking 
off,  and  throwing  out  the  jig,  will  get  the  most.  There 


5  o  Autob  iography 

comes  in  the  skill.  There  is  a  special  knack  in  strik- 
ing off  the  fish  into  a  deep  tub  and  throwing  out  the 
jig  as  a  part  of  the  same  motion.  It  is  only  by  experi- 
ence this  can  be  acquired,  though  natural  gifts  come 
in  play  here,  as  in  preaching.  Long  arms  are  impor- 
tant, and  to  know  how  to  use  them  still  more  so. 

There  are  few  things  more  delightfully  exciting  than 
a  hungry  school  of  mackerel  hanging  round  the  vessel 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  seizing  the  hook  as  soon  as 
it  touches  the  water,  bare  or  baited,  and  giving  to  each 
man  on  the  vessel's  gleaming  side  a  chance  to  show 
his  skill.  Seen  from  a  little  distance,  when  the  strike 
is  on  the  side  of  the  schooner,  it  seems  all  alive 
with  gleaming  flecks  of  silver.  Then  in  an  instant 
the  strike  is  off,  and  the  school  sweeps  on.  Then  the 
fishermen  leave  their  lines  and  go  round  looking  into 
each  other's  tubs,  to  see  who  has  caught  the  most. 
Though,  after  a  few  years'  experience,  I  was  generally 
pretty  well  up  with  the  best,  yet  many  and  many  a 
time  after  a  smart  spirt,  I  have  felt,  when  looking  into 
other  tubs,  like  a  defeated  politician  after  election, — 
I  had  had  a  bad  run.  Perhaps  a  dog-fish  took  my  jig 
right  in  the  midst,  and  I  had  to  haul  him  in,  throw  him 
on  deck,  put  my  cowhide  heel  on  his  horned  back,  and 
cut  the  hook  from  his  sharklike  mouth.  All  that  took 
time,  and  never  is  it  more  true  that  time  is  money  than 
when  mackerel  are  on  a  rampage.  We  usually  baited 
our  jigs  with  a  bit  of  uncooked  salt  pork  rind,  because 
it  was  tough  and  wore  longer  than  anything  else.  But, 
when  they  were  in  dainty  mood,  we  would  coax  them 
with  a  thin  slice  from  one  of  their  own  or  their  fel- 
lows' tails.  That  would  sometimes  take  them,  when 
they  would  turn  like  a  Jew  from  swine  skin. 


Boyhood  5 1 

A  skilful  fisherman  was  allowed  three  lines,  if  he 
could  use  them  and  not  tangle  his  neighbors'.  The 
third  line  was  called  a  fly, —  a  very  light  jig,  just 
weight  enough  to  be  thrown  out  with  skill.  It  would 
float  near  the  surface  on  the  outer  rim  of  the  school, 
and  now  and  then  pick  off  a  noble  fellow,  to  the  great 
annoyance  of  such  as  twitched  their  lines  in  vain  for  a 
bite.  Then  we  had  gaffs,  with  long  slender  wire  run- 
ning down  two  or  three  feet  below  the  wooden  handle, 
so  as  to  pass  easily  through  the  water.  When  the  fish 
refused  the  hook,  and  would  swim  round  the  vessel's 
side  in  a  most  provoking  way,  we  would  run  our  gaff 
below  them,  and  with  the  hook  in  the  end  take  in  the 
most  aristocratic  among  them  in  a  most  ungentlemanly 
way.  It  wasn't  fair.  It  was  a  shabby  way  of  doing  it. 
It  might  do  for  a  clumsy  lobster  under  a  rock ;  but,  for 
a  genuine  wawunnekeseag  of  the  shining  ancient  race, 
it  was  a  method  of  gouging  that  should  not  have  been 
tolerated. 

Dressing  and  salting  the  fish  were  just  as  necessary 
as  catching  them,  but  not  so  pleasant.  To  do  this,  we 
divided  in  pairs.  One  split,  the  other  "gipped,"  the 
fish.  To  split,  the  mackerel  is  laid  on  a  splitting  board 
about  waist-band  high,  and  a  sharp,  thin  blade  run  the 
entire  length  from  nose  to  tail,  with  one  drawing  stroke 
shaving  close  the  upper  side  of  the  backbone.  The 
facility  and  ease  and  accuracy  with  which  this  is  done 
by  a  workman  is  quite  wonderful.  The  fish  thus  split 
is  thrown  with  the  same  hand  that  held  it  in  place  into 
a  "  cover,"  a  shallow  tub  set  on  two  wash-barrels,  where 
the  gipper  seizes  it  and  with  just  three  motions  takes 
out  the  entrails  and  gills,  and,  breaking  the  belly  to 


52  A  u  tobiograpliy 

show  the  depth  of  the  fat,  throws  it,  flesh  side  down, 
into  a  barrel  with  two  buckets  of  pure  ocean  brine  at 
the  bottom.  The  rapidity  with  which  a  wash-barrel  of 
fish  may  be  dressed  in  this  way  would  astonish  one  who 
witnessed  it  for  the  first  time.  When  the  fish  are  all 
dressed,  the  barrels  are  filled  with  salt  water  and  left 
to  soak  for  half  a  day  or  so.  Then  the  water  is  turned 
off,  the  fish  thumbed  and  changed  to  another  barrel, 
which  is  again  filled  with  fresh  sea-water. 

"Thumbing"  is  rubbing  the  thumb  over  the  break 
of  the  fat,  to  make  the  fish  look  fatter  than  it  is ;  for 
it  is  the  fat  that  decides  whether  the  fish  is  No.  i,  2, 
or  3,  the  fattest  being  No.  I  and  bringing  the  best 
price.  It  is  to  mackerel  what  "deaconing"  is  to  a 
barrel  of  apples.  The  deception  is  so  universal  that  it 
doesn't  deceive.  After  remaining  awhile  in  the  changed 
water,  they  are  poured  out  on  deck,  washed  clean,  and 
thrown  down  the  hatchway  for  salting.  After  a  heavy 
day's  work,  it  would  take  a  large  part,  at  times  the 
whole,  of  the  night  to  dress  and  soak  and  salt  the  catch. 
Then  there  was  no  need  of  calling  all  hands  in  the 
morning.  We  were  all  up  to  see  the  day  break,  but  so 
hungry  and  tired  we  hoped  no  one  would  feel  a  nibble 
when  the  lines  were  flung  out.  But  ordinarily  there 
was  plenty  of  time,  as  there  would  sometimes  be  days 
and  even  weeks  that  we  would  not  take  a  fish.  Then 
we  would  strike  large  schools  with  a  good  appetite,  and 
take  a  full  fare  in  a  week.  When  every  available  barrel 
and  tub  and  bucket  were  salted  full,  we  would  salt  as 
many  in  the  bait  shovel  as  it  would  hold,  hoist  our 
colors,  make  all  sail,  and  head  for  home.  That  was 
the  happiest  part  of  the  trip, —  homeward  bound  with 
a  full  fare. 


Boyhood  5  3 

I  must  tell  you  about  our  arrangements  for  cooking. 
We  carried  no  cook,  as  they  do  now ;  but  each  man 
had  to  take  his  cook-day  in  turn.  The  duty  of  the 
cook  was  to  make  tea  or  chocolate  for  breakfast  or 
supper,  and  get  dinner  for  all  hands.  The  dinners 
were  usually  fish,  salt  junk,  or  stewed  beans,  each  one 
finding  his  own  hard  tack.  Whatever  each  one  wanted 
for  breakfast  or  supper,  aside  from  the  common  tea  or 
chocolate,  he  must  cook  for  himself.  In  this  private 
cooking,  as  in  carrying  a  grist  to  mill,  "first  come,  first 
served."  We  had  no  stove,  but  a  brick  fireplace,  with 
a  barricade  round  the  hearth  to  prevent  things  "  fetch- 
ing away."  The  funnel  above  the  deck  was  of  wood, 
lashed  firmly  to  the  deck,  with  a  cleated  board  we 
could  change  round  on  the  top  to  prevent  the  wind 
from  blowing  down. 

Our  fuel  was  wood,  stowed  away  in  the  forepeak, 
where  it  was  kept  nice  and  damp  for  ready  use.  As 
friction  matches  had  not  been  invented,  the  vessel  was 
provided  with  tinder-box,  steel,  and  flint.  But,  in  the 
dampness  of  a  fisherman's  cabin,  it  is  not  easy  to  keep 
tinder  dry.  So  it  was  often  no  small  job  to  make  the 
spark  catch  and  hold  long  enough  to  ignite  the  brim- 
stone match  applied.  But  the  fire  once  built  could  be 
kept  along  through  the  day,  especially  as  there  were  so 
many  to  use  it, —  some  for  frying  fish,  some  for  cooking 
bloaters,  or  stir  puddings  or  shortcakes. 

We  ate  our  meals  in  a  very  independent  way.  We 
did  not  stand  for  ceremony.  The  skipper  and  second 
hand  usually  sat  at  a  movable  shelf,  called,  from  home 
association,  a  table.  The  rest  of  us  took  it  standing 
or  sitting,  as  was  most  convenient.  As  somebody 


54  Autobiography 

must  always  be  on  deck,  the  hatches  or  weather  side 
of  the  quarter-deck  where  the  spray  didn't  wet  was  a 
good  place  for  a  mug  of  chocolate  and  a  tin  dish  of 
beans.  It  was  not  deemed  important  to  wash  our  pri- 
vate dishes  as  long  as  we  could  remember  what  we 
used  in  them  last. 

We  had  to  be  very  sparing  of  fresh  water.  A  barrel 
was  always  on  top,  lashed  firmly  beside  the  gangway ; 
but  we  were  allowed  to  use  it  for  drink  only,  never  for 
washing  face  and  hands  or  any  article  of  clothing. 
We  carried  about  a  dozen  barrels  for  a  four  weeks' 
cruise.  They  were  always  stored  directly  under  the 
main  hatches,  easy  of  access ;  and  one  of  the  first 
things  to  be  done  after  getting  fairly  out  to  sea  was  to 
visit  the  water  barrels  with  a  gimlet,  and  bore  a  hole 
through  every  barrel  near  the  bung.  Without  this 
ventilation  the  water  would  become  stagnant  and  ropy, 
—  unfit  to  drink. 

As  only  the  dinner  was  in  common,  each  one  carried 
his  own  stores.  Mine,  as  I  remember,  were  generally 
flour,  meal,  sugar,  molasses,  butter,  eggs,  pork,  and 
rum.  This  last  was  to  treat  with ;  for  fresh  hands, 
"  monkeys "  included,  were  liable  to  a  call  to  "  treat 
all  hands,"  when  a  cape  or  light-house  not  before  seen 
was  made.  However,  as  each  one  carried  his  gallon 
keg,  it  wasn't  so  much  the  drink  as  the  fun  that  de- 
manded the  payment  of  "duties."  Still,  we  generally 
had  some  hard  drinkers ;  but  the  harder  they  drank, 
the  sooner  the  keg  was  empty,  and  the  sooner  Dick 
was  himself  again. 

As  I  have  recalled  my  fisherman  days  and  the  moral 
as  well  as  other  atmosphere  of  my  fisherman  life,  I 


Boyliood  5  5 

have  thought  that  nothing  could  tempt  me  to  permit  a 
child  of  mine  to  be  exposed  to  such  influences.  But 
a  boy  of  thirteen  who  has  had  a  good  home  can  gener- 
ally be  trusted.  Somehow,  the  wool  grows  on  the 
naked  back  of  a  spring  lamb,  so  that,  when  the  Octo- 
ber winds  come,  he  has  a  nice  warm  coat  to  protect 
him  from  cold.  "  In  heaven  their  angels  do  always 
behold  the  face  of  my  Father."  The  angel  on  earth 
that  waved  her  mystic  wand  over  my  exposed  head 
was  my  mother,  whose  last  words  to  me  always  were, 
"William,  be  a  good  boy."  If  I  wasn't  always  good, 
I  never  was  as  bad  as  I  should  have  been  without 
those  precious  words. 

Passing  from  exposed  boys  to  preserved  bloaters,  let 
me  tell  you  what  a  bloater  is,  and  how  it  is  made.  The 
finest  and  fattest  mackerel  are  selected,  and,  after 
being  dressed  as  described,  the  backbone  is  taken  out 
and  the  head  and  tail  cut  off.  Then  they  are  salted  a 
couple  of  hours,  just  to  harden  the  flesh.  Then  the 
salt  is  washed  off  carefully,  and  the  fish  laid,  flesh  side 
up,  in  the  sun  and  wind  to  dry  and  ripen.  After  they 
arc  "done  brown,"  they  are  ready  for  use;  and,  when 
cooked  before  an  open  fire,  set  up  on  skewers  made  for 
the  purpose,  they  are  delicious. 

We  generally  managed  to  have  a  few  ready  to  take 
home  when  we  arrived.  Sometimes,  when  we  got  into 
the  harbor  in  the  night,  and  I  walked  home  with  a 
happy  heart  under  the  stars,  I  would  hang  a  nice 
bloater  on  the  front-door  handle  of  a  certain  house 
where  a  certain  sweet  girl  lived, —  the  very  one  whose 
little  hand  took  the  candy  from  behind  the  school-room 
door, —  to  let  her  know  as  she  swept  off  the  doorstep  in 


56  Autobiography 

the  morning  that  somebody  got  home  from  fishing  in 
the  night.  Who  said  she  expected  me  the  next  even- 
ing? I  didn't.  It  was  your  guess. 

Packing  day  was  a  great  occasion,  especially  when 
we  brought  in  a  full  fare.  Our  colors  were  run  up,  and 
snapped  joyfully  in  the  breeze,  and  sometimes  a  long 
pennon  would  float  out  gracefully  over  the  water.  The 
skipper  was  happy,  the  crew  was  happy,  the  inspectors 
were  happy,  the  packers  were  happy,  and  the  owners 
were  happy ;  for  a  full  fare  meant  a  full  purse  all  round. 

Then  on  that  day  it  would  be  decided,  with  govern- 
ment sealed  scales,  who  was  high  line.  Generally,  it 
was  the  skipper, —  he  prided  himself  on  that ;  but  the 
summer  I  was  sixteen  /  was  high  line, —  not  for  a  single 
trip  only,  but  for  the  season,  taking  with  my  own  hands 
a  hundred  and  thirty-four  barrels.  I  think  I  must 
have  grown  an  inch  that  year.  But  this  promise  of  my 
boyhood  was  not  fulfilled,  I  regret  to  say,  in  after  life. 
I  never  have  been  high  line  in  anything  else  that  I 
have  undertaken. 

On  packing  day  the  owners  gave  the  whole  crew  a 
dinner  at  the  hotel  on  shore.  And  such  a  dinner ! 
Roast !  boiled !  baked !  with  all  the  richest  vegetables 
and  fruits  from  garden  and  field,  finishing  up  with 
plum  pudding  rich  enough  for  Thanksgiving.  It  was 
a  dinner  to  tempt  the  appetite  even  of  a  well-fed  lands- 
man ;  but  for  a  dozen  hungry  fishermen  who  had  lived 
on  hard  tack  and  beans  for  a  month,  without  the  smell 
of  a  fresh  vegetable,  it  was  simply  celestial.  We  could 
go  another  whole  trip  on  the  memory  of  it.  I  feel  like 
thanking  those  owners,  long  since  in  heaven  or  some- 
where, for  their  superb  packing  dinners.  I  can  smell 


Boyhood  5  7 

and  taste  them  even  now,  though  more  than  sixty-five 
years  have  passed  since  we  feasted  upon  them. 

But  I  must  leave  my  fishing  experience,  though  it 
continued,  for  a  part  of  the  summer,  till  I  was  twenty. 
But,  when  about  sixteen,  I  graduated  from  the  district 
school,  and  began  learning  the  trade  of  a  ship-car- 
penter with  my  father,  as  my  brother  Albert  had  done 
before  me. 

Just  before  this  father  had  given  up  building  for  him- 
self, and  was  taking  jobs  of  work  from  other  builders, 
sometimes  "timbering  and  planking,"  sometimes  "put- 
ting in  a  deck,"  and  the  like.  He  took  me  with  him. 
I  began  work  on  the  North  River,  which  at  that  time 
was  dotted  with  ship-yards  all  along  its  serpentine 
course.  It  was  one  of  the  earliest  industries  of  that 
region.  A  large  part  of  the  young  men  became  ship- 
carpenters. 

In  the  early  days  the  forests  around  yielded  an 
abundance  of  white  oak,  the  best  material  for  ships,  if 
we  except  the  live  oak,  which  is  found  only  in  the 
South.  These  forests  of  white  oak,  however,  were  not 
inexhaustible ;  and  before  my  day  they  began  to  fail, 
and  building  on  the  river  to  decline.  Besides,  the 
shifting  sand-bars  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  shoals 
inside,  became  more  and  more  troublesome,  so  that  it 
was  with  difficulty  a  large  ship  could  be  got  down  the 
river  and  out  to  sea.  At  first  many  Nantucket  whaling 
ships  were  built  here ;  but  the  shallowness  of  the  river 
and  the  growing  scarcity  of  old-growth  timber  at  last 
drove  the  business  into  deeper  water,  where  timber 
from  abroad  was  more  accessible,  and  Medford,  Chel- 
sea, and  East  Boston  became  the  great  places  for  ship- 


58  Autobiography 

building  on  our  Massachusetts  coast.  I  had  not  worked 
long  for  father  before  he  took  jobs  of  work  in  other 
places  ;  and,  being  ambitious,  I  soon  earned  for  father, 
who  needed  my  aid,  a  man's  wages.  We  used  to  work 
in  those  days  from  sun  to  sun,  even  in  the  long  days  of 
summer.  The  halcyon  days  of  "eight  hours"  or  even 
"  ten  "  had  not  then  dawned. 

At  one  time,  when  we  worked  at  Braintree  and  went 
home  Saturday  nights,  mother  would  get  breakfast 
for  us  Monday  morning  by  about  three  o'clock.  Then 
we  would  start  off,  and,  walking  twelve  miles,  often 
be  the  first  in  the  yard.  After  that  a  long  day's  work. 
As  I  look  back  on  those  days,  I  don't  see  how  we 
stood  it ;  but  we  did,  and  I  don't  remember  ever  to 
have  thought  that  I  had  a  hard  time. 

In  the  ship-yard  as  well  as  on  board  the  fishing 
vessel,  rum  was  a  common  beverage  in  those  days.  All 
hands  were  called  at  eleven  o'clock  and  at  four  for 
grog.  Besides  this,  many  kept  a  private  bottle  in  their 
tool-chests ;  and  it  was  interesting  to  see  how  often 
such  men  would  want  a  particular  tool  in  that  safely 
locked  chest. 

In  those  days  fathers  claimed  the  wages  of  their 
sons  till  they  were  twenty-one,  clothing  and  feeding 
them,  of  course,  in  the  mean  time.  I  was  glad  to  give 
father  my  wages,  for  I  knew  he  needed  them ;  but, 
when  I  was  twenty,  I  told  him  I  would  like  to  buy  my 
time  for  the  remaining  year.  I  would  give  him  one 
hundred  dollars,  as  I  could  earn  it,  to  let  me  off,  and 
begin  the  world  for  myself.  He  knew  I  was  worth 
more  to  him  than  that ;  but  he  was  a  dear,  generous 
father,  and  to  my  great  delight  accepted  my  pro- 


Boyhood  59 

posal.  I  was  a  fair  workman,  took  jobs  of  work,  so 
making  more  than  day  wages,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
year  paid  over  the  hundred  and  had  more  than  another 
hundred,  if  I  remember  rightly,  in  the  locker.  Now  I 
was  free.  Now  I  was  twenty-one,  that  goal  to  which 
my  boyhood  had  looked  with  longing  eyes. 


VI. 

YOUNG  MANHOOD. 
1832-1834. 

FEVER  IN  MEDFORD. —  BROTHERS  AND  SISTERS. —  MARRIAGE. — 
HOUSEKEEPING. —  GUNNING. 

ANDREW  JACKSON  was  President.  I  name  this,  not 
because  I  was  interested  in  politics,  but  to  let  you  know 
how  long  ago  it  was. 

Soon  after  I  was  free,  I  had  a  fresh  experience  of  the 
power  and  blessedness  of  a  mother's  love.  I  was  at 
work  on  a  lower  deck,  in  company  with  others,  in  Med- 
ford,  in  the  hot  month  of  August,  and  was  suddenly 
smitten  down  with  what  threatened  to  be  brain  fever. 
The  doctor  was  sent  for,  and  gave  transient  relief  to 
my  bursting  brain  by  bleeding.  In  my  boarding-house 
my  fellow-workmen  were  ready  to  watch,  and  kind  as 
they  could  be,  and  as  clumsy  as  they  were  kind.  I 
grew  worse  so  rapidly  that,  becoming  alarmed,  my 
dear  good  Uncle  Elijah  Brooks,  a  brother  of  my 
mother,  took  a  private  team  and  drove  to  Scituate  to 
bring  mother,  all  unbeknown  to  me.  He  went  with 
speed,  returning  in  the  night.  I  felt  a  gentle  hand  on 
my  pained  head.  From  that  hour  I  began  to  grow  bet- 
ter. Never  was  such  medicine  as  I  found  in  mother's 
face,  and  mother's  hand,  and  mother's  love.  It  acted 
like  magic.  In  ten  days  I  was  up,  and  resumed  my 


Young  Manhood  61 

work,  though  pale  and  weak  enough  to  make  my  fellow- 
workmen  exclaim,  as  they  saw  me  take  up  my  tools  to 
help  them  finish  the  job.  I  should  not  have  gone  to 
work  again  so  soon  ;  but  it  was  the  first  year  of  my  man- 
hood, and  I  was  ambitious  to  do  the  best  I  could. 

The  older  children  at  the  Block  House  home  were 
scattered  by  this  time.  Philenda,  the  black-eyed  fairy, 
had  been  married  to  Joseph  Bond,  Jr.,  of  Waltham,  for 
ten  years.  My  only  brother,  "  Butt,"  had  married  Sarah 
Foster —  Sarah  Albert,  as  we  have  always  called  her  — 
four  years  before.  Sarah,  the  rosy-cheeked  blonde,  had 
married  William  Turner,  of  Scituate.  One  year  later, 
and  the  year  I  was  twenty-one,  Julia  married  Captain 
James  Southworth,  of  Scituate.  So  only  Lucy  and 
Caroline,  fifteen  and  thirteen,  were  now  left  in  the  old 
home  with  father  and  mother.  I  never  want  to  forget 
what  a  pleasure  it  gave  me  to  use  some  of  my  first  earned 
money  for  my  young  sisters,  who  had  few  ways  of  earn- 
ing money  for  themselves.  They  were  lovely  girls.  I 
shall  tell  you  more  about  them  by  and  by. 

When  I  had  laid  up  a  few  hundred  dollars,  I  began, 
as  young  men  do,  to  think  about  a  home  for  myself. 
But  one  cannot  make  a  home  alone,  any  more  than  a 
single  bird  can  make  a  nest.  Only  mates  build  nests 
or  make  homes.  Did  I  think  of  anybody  in  particular  ? 
Well,  maybe  so. 

Her  name  was  Mary  Jacobs  Foster,  and  she  was  then 
living  with  her  sister,  Aunt  Tempie,*  at  Brookline, 
where  Turner  and  Magoun  were  building  ships. 

We  were  married  on  the  i5th  of  May,  1834. 

I  was   twenty-three  six  days  before,  and  Mary  was 

*  Mrs.  Francis  Turner. 


62  l   Autobiography 

twenty-three  the  6th  of  the  next  October.  When 
any  one  inquires  of  me  the  proper  age  to  marry,  I 
say  promptly,  twenty-three.  On  the  morning  of  that 
eventful  15th  I  was  at  South  Boston.  I  had  just  fin- 
ished a  job  of  work  there.  I  took  the  stage  for  South 
Scituate  as  it  came  out  of  the  city,  a*nd  at  about  four 
in  the  afternoon  we  passed  through  the  door  of  the 
venerable  old  house  where  I  left  my  cod  on  the  handle 
when  I  was  a  fisher-boy,  and,  taking  a  country  chaise, 
we  rode  to  the  residence  of  the  minister  of  the  First 
Parish, —  our  parish  was  then  without  a  pastor, —  and 
were  married  by  Rev.  Edmund  Q.  Sewall.  Mary's 
sister  Hannah,  and  a  dear  playmate  of  my  boyhood, 
Tom  Southworth,  went  with  us  as  bridesmaid  and 
groomsman.  I  thought  it  a  beautiful  service,  though 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  could  tell  a  word  of  it  the  next 
day,  or  even  that  afternoon.  But  it  was  beautiful,  very 
beautiful, —  I  know  it  was;  for  then  we  were  joined 
in  a  holy  wedlock,  which  was  the  joy  and  blessing  of 
my  life  for  over  forty  years. 

After  remaining  a  few  weeks  with  father  and  mother 
at  the  Block  House  as  boarders,  I  took  a  job  of  work 
at  Commercial  Point.  Having  finished  that  in  August, 
I  went  mackerel  fishing  for  old  associations  sake.  But 
I  had  lost  my  luck,  and  left  before  the  season  was 
over.  In  November  I  found  work  in  Medford,  took 
Mary  with  me,  and  there,  in  a  part  of  a  new  house  built 
and  occupied  by  my  uncle,  Gilbert  Brooks,  we  first 
went  to  housekeeping.  We  had  the  upper  part  of  the 
house,  and  furnished  it  as  neatly  as  good  taste  —  of 
course  we  had  that  —  and  a  reasonable  amount  of  hard- 
earned  money  could  do.  Oh,  it  was  a  charming,  cosey 


Young  Manhood  63 

little  place  for  a  young  mechanic  to  start  out  with  ! 
It  was  near  where  I  worked ;  and  it  was  so  nice,  when 
the  day's  work  was  over,  to  go  home,  and  feel  that  it 
was  my  home.  No,  our  home  ;  for  there  was  Mary  at 
the  window  to  greet  me. 

One  day,  having  worked  steadily  for  a  long  time,  I 
concluded  to  take  a  half-day's  recreation.  Meadow- 
birds  sometimes  came  up  on  the  banks  of  the  Mystic  ; 
and,  being  used  to  gunning  on  the  North  River,  I 
thought  I  would  recreate  that  way.  But  I  had  neither 
gun  nor  ammunition.  So  I  borrowed  the  first,  and  went 
up  town  and  bought  the  second,  and  started  out  for 
birds  enough  for  a  pot-pie,  such  as  mother  used  to 
make  from  the  gray-backs  and  plovers  father  brought 
home. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  and  I  went  out  with  high 
hopes,  leaving  Mary  to  make  ready  for  the  pot-pie,  tell- 
ing her  how  mother  did  it,  and  making  both  our  mouths 
water  in  anticipation  of  the  rich  dish  that  would  carry 
us  back  to  the  days  of  our  youth ;  for  by  this  time  we 
began  to  feel  quite  old. 

But,  alas  !  the  fondest  hopes  are  liable  to  disappoint- 
ment. The  birds  that  morning  were  scarce, —  not  a  yel- 
low-leg or  a  gray-back  on  the  meadows.  How  far  and 
long  I  wandered  in  vain  search,  through  how  many 
muddy  swales  I  waded,  over  or  into  how  many  ditches 
I  jumped,  how  often  I  left  a  shoe  in  the  mud,  and  lost 
the  other  in  trying  to  recover  it,  I  will  not  attempt  to 
tell ;  for  it  was  a  good  while  ago,  and  memory  is  treach- 
erous, like  the  salt  marsh. 

But  this  is  clear.  The  peeps  were  few  and  shy,  as  if 
they  had  a  suspicion  that  my  father  was  a  good  shot ; 


64  Autobiography 

though,  if  they  had  known  his  son,  they  need  not  have 
been  afraid.  At  last  the  sun  grew  hot,  and  I  grew 
tired  ;  and,  knowing  that  Mary  was  waiting  with  all  the 
anxiety  of  a  new  housekeeper  for  the  birds,  I  sighted 
a  lonely,  melancholy-looking  flock,  and  brought  down 
two, —  two  peeps,  about  as  large  as  English  sparrows. 

I  took  them  home  in  crestfallen  sadness,  feeling 
much  as  I  have  often  done  after  making  a  very  poor 
speech.  Mary  was  lenient.  She  knew  it  wasn't  a  good 
day  for  birds,  and  that  I  hadn't  used  a  gun  for  years. 
Indeed,  she  was  probably  so  glad  to  see  me  home  again 
with  that  gun,  alive,  and  with  none  of  my  ringers  miss- 
ing, that  she  was  more  disposed  to  rejoice  than  to  re- 
buke or  make  fun  of  me.  So  she  set  herself  to  work  to 
do  the  best  she  could  for  the  pot-pie  with  the  material 
she  had.  The  birds  were  small,  to  begin  with ;  but, 
after  they  were  picked  and  dressed,  they  were  smaller 
still, —  scarcely  discernible  with  the  naked  eye.  But 
I  assured  her  mother  had  made  good  pot-pies  out  of 
peeps,  and  it  was  true.  I  think  I  didn't  name  the 
quantity.  Of  course,  it  was  natural  for  a  young  house- 
keeper to  think  that  what  was  lacking  in  bird-flesh 
could  be  made  up,  in  a  measure,  in  seasoning.  So  a 
liberal  use  was  made  of  salt  and  pepper.  It  didn't 
take  long  for  the  frail  creatures  to  cook. 

So  the  table  was  spread  with  a  dainty  white  cloth, 
our  new  plates  and  new  knives  and  forks  were  laid  in 
order,  and  the  smoking  and  savory  pie  brought  on.  We 
tasted,  prepared  to  exclaim,  and  we  did ;  but  it  was  not 
with  gastric  joy.  Salt !  salt !  salt !  Pepper !  pepper !  pep- 
per !  It  was  seasoned  with  a  vengeance.  We  could  not 
eat  a  mouthful.  The  invisibility  of  the  birds  deceived 


Manhood  6$ 

us  both.  We  were  willing  to  share  the  mistake.  But  it 
was  a  memorable  experience.  I  had  lost  a  half-day's 
work,  clean  cash,  lost  the  price  of  my  powder  and  shot, 
we  had  both  lost  our  dinner ;  but  it  may  have  proved, 
after  all,  the  best  half-day's  work  I  ever  made,  for  it 
was  the  last  of  my  gunning,  and  the  fun  we  both  got 
out  of  it  was  seasoning  for  many  a  jolly  reminiscence. 


VII. 
CRISIS. 

1834-1837. 

RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE. —  LONGING  TO  PREACH. —  STUDY. — 
MOVING  TO  SCITUATE. —  VISIT  TO  CAMBRIDGE. —  REV. 
S.  J.  MAY. —  SCHOOL-TEACHING. 

I  NOW  approached  what  proved  the  great  crisis  of  my 
life, —  a  crisis  that  changed  radically  its  whole  course, 
and  opened  to  me  a  field  of  labor  entirely  different 
from  what  I  had  regarded  as  my  life-work. 

As  the  change  in  all  my  plans  and  purposes  was  so 
sudden  and  so  great,  I  must  try  to  tell  you  a  little 
about  it,  though  in  doing  it  I  shall  have  to  speak  of  my 
religious  experience, —  a  subject  on  which  reticence  is  a 
virtue  ;  for  too  much  handling  rubs  the  bloom  from  the 
most  delicate  fruit. 

But  you  are  my  own  dear  children  and  grandchildren  ; 
and,  as  I  love  you,  I  want  you  to  know  about  these  deeper 
experiences  in  life,  which  made  a  new  man  of  me  and 
led  me  into  the  Christian  ministry. 

I  was  never  an  entirely  thoughtless  boy.  Though 
full  of  fun  and  jollity,  I  had,  like  most  other  boys, 
seasons  of  serious  thought.  I  was  brought  up  to  go  to 
church,  and  soon  came  to  love  it.  I  even  remember 
just  where  I  sat  in  the  old  church,  when  I  first  began 
to  listen  to  the  sermon  and  to  understand  that  it  had 


Crisis  67 

something  for  me,  child  as  I  was.  It  was  an  epoch  in  my 
child-life  when  I  learned  that  the  sermon  was  for  me. 
It  led  to  the  habit  of  listening, —  a  habit  that  has  clung 
to  me  through  life  ;  for,  however  limited  my  power  to 
instruct  has  been,  I  have  always  been  a  good  listener, 
and  owe  as  much  to  that,  perhaps,  as  to  good  reading. 
Conscience  began  to  speak  to  me  early.  I  have  told 
you  how  it  thrashed  me  after  I  "thrashed  "  those  eggs. 
I  have  told  you  of  the  impression  the  death  of  a  dear 
playfellow  made  upon  me.  But  I  was  a  rubber  ball, 
and  easily  bounded  out  the  impression  made.  The  old 
parish  where  I  was  brought  up  was  "  Arminian,"  so 
called,  at  the  beginning,  but  had  gradually  grown  into 
the  first  type  of  Unitarianism.  It  was  anti-Calvinistic, 
very  decidedly,  though  the  main  stress  was  always  laid 
not  on  doctrine,  but  a  good  life.  Good,  wholesome 
doctrine  was  preached,  but  it  did  not  move  me  much. 
It  did  not  rouse  and  stimulate  me.  When  I  left  home, 
I  still  held  to  my  church-going  and  enjoyed  good 
preaching.  But  by  and  by  I  had  an  inward  awakening. 
I  cannot  tell  what  started  it.  Maybe  it  was  the  same 
voice  that  spake  to  me  when  a  small  boy.  But  it 
said  to  me  :  "  Be  a  man.  Live  a  truer  and  nobler  life." 
I  knew  what  it  meant,  for  I  had  some  intimate  asso- 
ciates whose  influence  was  not  good.  Not  that  they 
were  bad.  They  were  very  fair,  average  young  men, 
with  no  very  bad  habits.  I  liked  them,  enjoyed  their 
companionship,  and  we  spent  many  happy  evenings  to- 
gether. But  I  wasn't  satisfied  with  them  or  myself.  I 
wanted  other  associates,  to  talk  of  other  things  ;  and  so, 
when  the  voice  came,  saying,  "Come  up  higher,"  I 
resolved  I  would  quietly  break  away  from  this  sort  of 


68  Autobiography 

companionship.  To  do  this,  I  saw  I  must  change  my 
boarding-place.  I  had  an  uncle  and  aunt  in  the  town, 
who  were  good,  earnest  Baptists ;  and,  although  I  had 
no  liking  for  the  sect,  I  liked  them,  and  thought  I 
would  be  glad  to  board  in  their  quiet  home. 

So  one  evening  I  stood  alone  at  their  front  door,  in 
the  moonlight,  ready  to  lift  the  latch.  But,  after  all, 
was  I  ready  to  take  the  step  ?  What  would  my  com- 
panions say  ?  I  couldn't  tell  them  why  I  left.  They 
would  think  it  very  strange  in  me.  Should  I  go  in  or 
should  I  go  back  ?  I  thought  of  a  good  many  things  as 
I  stood  there  under  the  light  of  the  serene  heavens.  I 
thought  of  mother.  At  last  I  think  some  good  angel 
decided  it  for  me ;  and  I  lifted  the  latch,  and  was  cor- 
dially welcomed,  engaged  board  with  them,  and  became 
an  inmate  of  their  family.  It  broke  an  entangling  spell, 
and  I  was  happy. 

As  I  had  no  place  in  particular  to  go  to  church,  I 
went  with  them.  The  preaching  was  very  differ- 
ent from  what  I  had  been  accustomed  to.  I  didn't 
like  it.  But  gradually  it  took  hold  of  me.  My  soul 
was  already  awake  before  I  heard  it.  I  was  receptive ; 
and,  although  my  intellect  rebelled  against  the  harsh 
doctrine,  my  conscience  was  moved,  my  moral  and 
spiritual  nature  was  quickened.  I  was  overwhelmed 
with  a  sense  of  sin  ;  and,  after  some  weeks  of  great  spir- 
itual agony,  a  sweet  peace  stole  into  my  soul. 

I  had  passed  through  what  was  regarded  as  a  real 
evangelical  conversion.  Oh  how  kind  the  friends  all 
were  !  how  they  rejoiced  that  I  had  passed  from  death 
unto  life  !  Soon  I  felt  a  strong  desire  to  join  the  church 
and  take  up  the  cross  of  duty,  which  seemed  no  cross 


Crisis  69 

now,  but  a  crown.     But  I  soon  found  that  it  was  only 
my  heart  that  had  been  converted,  not  my  head. 

When  the  doctrinal  statements  were  given  to  me,  I 
found  I  could  not  subscribe  to  them.  I  was  Unitarian 
still.  My  friends  labored  with  me  to  show  me  my  error. 
They  gave  me  a  copy  of  their  articles  of  faith,  with  ref- 
erence to  the  passages  of  Scripture  where  they  were 
proved  true  added  to  each  one.  I  seized  on  this  with 
avidity,  for  I  wanted  to  satisfy  my  mind.  But,  after 
turning  to  the  passages,  I  could  not  find  the  proof.  I 
was  told  it  was  because  I  was  totally  depraved,  that  I 
must  not  trust  my  reason,  but  accept  the  creed  on  faith. 
But  this,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  did  not  convince  me. 
This  was  before  I  was  married.  Had  I  been  married, 
Mary  would  have  helped  me  out.  As  it  was,  I  struggled 
on  with  a  converted  heart  and  an  heretical  head.  Had 
the  new  school  of  Orthodoxy,  that  puts  Christ  above 
creed,  been  in  existence  then,  I  should  undoubtedly 
have  joined  them.  But  something  better  than  that  was 
in  store  for  me.  After  I  married  and  moved  to  Medford, 
Mary  not  enjoying  the  Baptist  preaching,  we  went  one 
Sunday  to  the  First  Parish  Church,  Rev.  Caleb  Stet- 
son, pastor.  We  were  both  pleased.  We  went  again. 
We  were  still  more  pleased.  He  was  a  Unitarian,  but 
not  of  the  old  kind.  It  was  such  Unitarianism  as  I  had 
never  heard  before.  It  was  transcendental  Unitarianism. 
He  preached  the  immanence  of  God  in  nature  and  in 
the  soul  of  man.  He  emphasized  the  divine  fatJierhood 
and  human  brotherhood^  sin  its  own  sorrow,  and  good- 
ness its  own  eternal  reward.  Orthodoxy  had  given  me 
the  doctrine  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  which  old-fashioned 
Unitarianism  said  little  about ;  but  it  was  linked  with  a 


70  Autobiography 

trinity  I  could  not  understand.  The  doctrine  of  the 
"  Immanence  of  God  "  gave  the  Holy  Spirit  to  me  in 
sweeter,  tenderer,  more  rational  form, —  an  ever  present 
holy  influence  from  God,  not  going  and  coming  like  a 
revival  preacher,  but  a  perpetual,  indwelling  presence. 

My  head  and  heart  were  satisfied.  I  could  still  hold 
on  to  my  "  new  birth  "  as  a  divine  reality,  for  which  I 
have  always  devoutly  thanked  God,  and  hold  on  to  my 
reason,  too,  as  equally  divine  with  conscience  and  the 
moral  sense. 

Through  all  my  religious  interest  and  experience 
thus  far  I  had  never  had  the  most  distant  thought  of 
preaching.  Indeed,  I  think  my  whole  nature,  intellect- 
ual and  spiritual,  had  never  been  in  complete  harmony 
before.  But  now  the  gospel  of  Christ  shone  with  new 
beauty,  and  came  over  me  with  new  power,  as  a  fresh 
revelation  from  on  high.  Now  a  longing  such  as  I  had 
never  felt  before  came  over  me  to  preach.  Oh,  I 
thought,  if  I  could  only  fit  myself  for  the  humblest  pul- 
pit, in  the  humblest  parish,  to  preach  this  gospel  of  the 
immanent  God  and  the  Eternal  Life,  here  and  now,  it 
would  be  the  greatest  joy  of  my  life.  But  could  this 
ever  be  ?  Did  not  my  lack  of  early  culture  forbid  ?  It 
would  indeed  seem  so.  But  the  vision  haunted  me.  I 
could  not  order  it  away.  So  I  wrote  a  letter  to  the 
dear  minister  whose  preaching  had,  under  God,  waked 
this  longing  and  inspired  the  vision,  and  told  him  all. 
He  kindly  encouraged  me.  Mary  encouraged  me,  too. 
Without  that  encouragement  I  should  have  been  help- 
less. But  even  with  it  there  were  most  serious  diffi- 
culties. 

Since  leaving  the  winter  district  school  at  fifteen  or 


Crisis  7 1 

sixteen,  I  had  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  study.  I 
had  liked  to  read,  but  only  read  what  I  liked,  with  no 
method.  Indeed,  I  had  found  little  time  for  reading  of 
any  kind.  The  old  romances  of  that  day,  "  Robinson 
Crusoe,"  "  Arabian  Nights,"  "Thaddeus  of  Warsaw," 
"  Children  of  the  Abbey,"  and  later  Scott's  "  Waverley 
Novels  "  had  their  charm  for  me  as  for  most  young 
people.  But  I  had  given  little  attention  to  history, 
natural  or  national,  and  none  at  all  to  literature.  This 
seemed  a  poor  and  weak  foundation  to  build  on.  But 
my  soul  was  alive  with  a  great  purpose,  and  I  resolved, 
God  helping,  to  try.  Mary  was  a  better  scholar  than 
I,  and  we  two  started  a  little  school  together  in  our 
cosey  sitting-room.  We  began  at  the  beginning,  Eng- 
lish grammar  and  the  common  branches.  I  kept  at 
work  in  the  yard  a  part  of  the  time,  to  pay  our  way, 
and  studied  the  rest.  The  flame  of  interest  burned, 
blazed,  and  every  fresh  sermon  I  heard  added  fuel. 
Mr.  Joseph  Angier  taught  a  private  academy  in  Med- 
ford  at  that  time ;  and  I  engaged  Mr.  John  Buttrick, 
his  assistant,  to  hear  me  recite  at  certain  odd  hours. 
He  helped  me  greatly.  He  entered  at  once  into  all 
my  fond  hopes  and  aspirations;  and,  seeing  I  was  in 
real  live  earnest,  he  offered  me  every  facility  in  his 
power.  I  made  rapid  progress  during  the  three  months 
I  recited  to  him. 

In  the  spring  of  1836  we  decided  to  leave  Medford 
and  return  to  Scituate,  where  we  could  live  at  less 
expense  while  I  continued  my  studies.  It  would  have 
been  very  hard,  giving  up  our  dear  little  home,  but  for 
the  end  we  had  in  view.  That  made  it  easy.  A  fellow, 
workman  was  about  being  married,  and  he  took  our 


7  2  Autobiography 

house  with  all  its  furnishing,  except  the  beds  and 
bedding,  just  as  it  stood,  paying  us  nearly  the  cost  ;  for 
it  was  all  new  and  fresh. 

Soon  after  going  to  Scituate,  I  learned  of  a  house  to 
be  sold  very  cheap,  near  my  father's  ;  and  I  bought  it, 
putting  into  it  all  the  money  I  had.  It  was  a  good 
investment.  We  began  keeping  house  again,  with  spare 
furnishing,  but  luxurious  hopes.  Here  I  renewed  my 
studies. 

The  Rev.  E.  Q.  Sewall,  who  married  us,  became 
interested  in  my  purpose,  and  heard  me  recite  in 
Whately's  "Logic  and  Rhetoric."  Here,  too,  I  began 
the  study  of  Latin  and  Greek ;  for  my  purpose  then  was 
to  enter  the  Theological  School  at  Cambridge  as  soon 
as  I  became  qualified.  I  still  had  to  work  with  my 
hands  a  part  of  the  time,  to  keep  along.  I  undertook 
to  make  shoe-boxes  in  my  father's  barn.  This  was 
while  I  was  learning  the  Greek  alphabet ;  and  I  chalked 
the  letters  on  the  collar  beam  before  me  to  jog  my 
memory. 

But  my  shoe-box  enterprise  yielded  small  profit,  and 
I  gave  it  up.  Once  in  a  while  I  could  get  a  small  job 
at  my  trade.  At  last  I  thought  I  would  go  to  Cam- 
bridge and  see  just  what  the  requirements  were,  and 
what  aid,  if  any,  I  could  get.  I  went  and  had  an  inter- 
view with  one  of  the  professors.  No  doubt  my  general 
appearance — a  countryman,  a  mechanic  with  bard 
hands  —  was  against  me.  Besides,  I  was  married; 
and,  although  I  brought  a  letter  from  Rev.  E.  Q. 
Sewall,  it  might  have  been  written  out  of  the  kind- 
ness of  his  heart  rather  than  his  good  judgment.  I 
never  blamed  the  professor  that  he  didn't  "thuse" 


Crisis  73 

over  me.  There  was  small  reason  that  he  should. 
His  remarks  were  cool  and  judicious.  He  was  evi- 
dently not  inclined  to  raise  any  false  hopes.  He  was 
kind,  but  cautious.  He  told  me  the  qualifications  re- 
quired, and  the  aid  I  might  expect  if  I  proved  worthy 
of  it.  It  was  probably  just  the  thing  to  say  to  me. 
But  I  was  expecting  something  different,  and  left  dis- 
appointed. I  saw  the  few  hundred  dollars  I  had  would 
soon  be  gone,  and  I  should  leave  the  school  heavily 
in  debt  ;  and  mother's  warning,  "William,  never  get  in 
debt,"  rung  in  my  ears. 

I  went  home  feeling  as  if  I  had  been  wrapped  in  a 
wet  sheet.  It  took  long  and  patient  rubbing  to  get  up 
a  reaction.  I  even  thought  of  giving  the  whole  thing 
up.  Of  course,  I  never  could  have  given  it  up ;  but  for 
the  time  I  was  utterly  discouraged. 

I  returned,  not  to  study,  but  to  work.  I  took  a 
windlass  to  make  at  Scituate  Harbor  for  thirty  dollars. 
I  needed  the  money  to  live  upon.  But  I  did  not  give 
up  my  hope.  It  was  waiting  for  a  providential  breath 
to  kindle  it  to  a  flame. 

Our  parish  had  been,  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Deane, 
without  a  pastor.  We  had  had  many  candidates,  to 
whom  I  had  listened  with  great  interest.  At  last  the 
Rev.  Samuel  Joseph  May,  who  had  served  for  a  year 
as  the  agent  of  the  Massachusetts  Anti-slavery  Society, 
came  as  a  candidate ;  and,  although  there  was  not  much 
anti-slavery  among  us,  we  were  all  delighted.  While 
he  was  perfectly  outspoken  on  the  great  questions  dear 
to  his  heart,  he  was  so  genial,  so  kind,  that  he  won  us 
all,  and  disarmed  prejudices  so  completely  that  he  re- 
ceived a  unanimous  invitation  to  become  our  pastor, 
which  he  at  once  accepted. 


74  Autobiography 

I  was  strongly  drawn  to  him  from  the  first.  I  could 
not  keep  my  secret  from  him.  I  soon  told  him  all, — 
my  fond  hopes,  and  my  disappointment  at  not  being 
able  to  go  to  Cambridge.  He  took  my  hand  in  his, 
that  warm,  loving  hand  so  full  of  blessing,  and  told  me 
not  to  be  discouraged.  Cambridge,  good  as  it  was, —  and 
he  knew  how  good,  for  he  graduated  from  the  Univer- 
sity and  the  Theological  School, —  was  not  absolutely 
necessary  to  a  useful  ministry.  Frederick  T.  Gray, 
educated  in  mercantile  life,  had  studied  with  him.  He 
would  help  me,  and  I  could  help  him  in  many  ways.  It 
was  the  old  method  of  studying  for  the  ministry,  and 
most  gladly  I  accepted  the  proposal. 

He  soon  put  me  on  a  course  of  preparatory  reading, 
opened  his  large  library  and  his  great,  loving  heart  to 
me,  and  I  began  again,  with  a  new  hope  of  fitting 
myself  for  some  humble  field  of  labor  in  the  Christian 
ministry. 

The  following  winter  I  taught  the  district  school, 
where  I  used  to  attend,  for  thirty-two  dollars  a  month. 


VIII. 

PREPARATION   FOR   THE   MINISTRY. 

1837-1840. 

MOTHER'S  DEATH. —  REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.— OUR  FIRST- 
BORN.—  DR.  WALKER'S  CHURCH.— CHARLESTOWN. —  "  UNTO 
us  A  SON  is  GIVEN." — SUPPLYING  MR.  MAY'S  PULPIT. — 
FIRST  SERMON. —  TEACHING. —  APPROBATION  TO  PREACH. — 
LABORS  OF  LOVE. 

THE  next  spring,  March  7,  1837,  my  dear  mother 
died.  It  was  our  first  great  family  sorrow.  But  it  did 
not  come  suddenly.  She  had  been  slowly  declining  for 
two  or  three  years.  But,  oh,  she  was  so  good  and  true, 
so  unselfish  and  loving,  it  was  hard  to  let  her  go  even 
to  heaven !  She  knew,  of  course,  all  my  fond  hopes  of 
entering  the  ministry,  and  rejoiced  in  them.  I  used 
sometimes  to  bring  with  me  a  little  poem  I  had  written, 
and  read  it  to  her,  as  if  from  a  newspaper.  After  get- 
ting her  approval,  I  would  tell  her  of  the  innocent  cheat, 
which  she  enjoyed  as  well  as  I.  She  was  a  sweet 
soul, —  everything  to  father,  everything  to  her  chil- 
dren. She  died  before  the  Daguerrian  art  was  dis- 
covered, so  that  we  have  no  picture  of  her.  This  I 
deeply  regret.  But  I  suppose  no  picture,  could  we 
have  it,  would  equal  the  one  she  left  on  our  hearts.  In 
her  days  of  health,  she  was  bright,  full  of  humor  and 
Brooks  wit,  the  life  of  company,  and  making  all  around 


76  Autobiography 

her  happy.  Her  religion  was  of  the  quiet  and  unobtru- 
sive kind.  She  said  little  about  it,  but  let  it  run  into 
her  daily  life.  Her  "William,  be  a  good  boy,"  was 
Bible  plenarily  inspired  with  human  and  divine  love. 
She  was  patient  and  trustful,  and  willing  to  go,  if  it  was 
the  Father's  will ;  but  she  knew,  as  every  true  wife  and 
mother  knows,  how  much  she  was  needed,  and  longed 
to  stay.  She  had  suffered  so  much  and  so  long  that  the 
suffering  had  impressed  itself  upon  her  face.  She  had 
grown  old  fast,  though  she  was  only  fifty-eight.  But 
when  the  angel  of  death  had  gently  taken  the  spirit  out 
of  the  sick  form,  and  touched  the  wan  cheeks  with  his 
celestial  ringers,  the  old  sweet  look  came  back  again. 
She  was  young  and  fair  once  more,  and  a  sweet  smile 
as  if  from  visions  of  peace  and  beauty  rested  on  the 
dear  face.  It  was  a  real  comfort  to  look  upon  her.  It 
was  not  death.  It  was  rest  in  a  higher  life. 

I  have  spoken  of  Philenda's  marriage.  Luther 
Albert  and  Sarah  and  Julia  had  also  married  and  made 
homes  for  themselves,  so  that  dear  father  was  left  alone 
with  Lucy  and  Caroline  for  his  housekeepers.  But 
they  were  noble  girls,  and  did  all  they  could  to  make 
his  home  comfortable. 

When  I  began  my  studies  under  Mr.  May,  I  dropped 
my  Latin  and  Greek  ;  but,  as  I  had  not  given  much 
attention  to  either,  they  had  not  far  to  fall.  I  enjoyed 
my  winter  school-teaching,  and  think  I  was  successful. 
It  was  a  great  advantage  to  me,  as  it  enabled  me  to 
make  up  the  deficiency  of  my  early  education,  and  lay 
a  good  foundation  for  English  study  in  all  depart- 
ments open  to  me.  But  my  best  text-book,  intellectual, 
moral,  and  religious,  was  Mr.  May.  He  set  me  at 


Preparation  for  the  Ministry  77 

work ;  made  me  superintendent  of  his  Sunday-school ; 
took  me  with  him  to  school-house  meetings,  educational, 
temperance,  anti-slavery,  and  religious. 

Mr.  May  had  a  wide  acquaintance  with  the  leading 
reformers  ;  and  they  all  came  from  time  to  time  to  Scit- 
uate  to  confer  with  him,  to  enjoy  his  fellowship,  or  to 
lecture,  so  that  I  was  privileged  to  see  and  hear  the 
foremost  reformers  of  the  day.  He  believed  that 
women  who  felt  they  had  a  word  to  say  for  "  truth  and 
right  and  suffering  man  "  should  be  encouraged  to  say 
it.  The  first  woman  I  ever  heard  speak  from  the  pulpit 
was  Miss  Angelina  Grimke",  afterwards  Mrs.  Theodore 
D.  Weld,  whom  Mr.  May  invited  to  speak  in  his  church. 
She  was  very  eloquent  and  persuasive,  and  proved  her 
right  to  speak  to  be  divine. 

Garrison  was  one  of  Mr.  May's  intimate  friends,  and 
A.  Bronson  Alcott,  his  brother-in-law,  used  to  spend  his 
summers  there  with  his  family,  so  that  I  probably  had 
a  richer  variety  of  all  sorts  of  opinions  than  I  should 
have  got  at  Cambridge,  had  I  entered.  Transcenden- 
talism, non-resistance,  anti-slavery,  woman's  rights, 
teetotal  ism,  Emerson,  Carlyle,  Theodore  Parker,  were 
my  daily  meat  and  drink.  And  it  was  good,  nourishing 
food,  especially  as  served  up  by  Mr.  May  on  Sundays. 
He  was  always  most  eloquent  on  these  matters.  On 
ordinary  Christian  themes  he  was  sometimes  dull.  But 
on  the  great  reforms  dear  to  his  heart  he  would  blaze 
and  burn  with  an  interest  that  would  set  the  congrega- 
tion aglow. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year  I  opened  a  private  school 
to  eke  out  our  living.  I  had  nineteen  scholars  at  three 
dollars  a  quarter.  I  did  not  bear  well  the  confinement 
in  hot  weather,  and  continued  only  three  months. 


78  Autobiography 

On  the  3Oth  of  June  this  year,  only  a  few  months 
after  mother's  death,  a  great  event  transpired  in  our 
little  home.  A  sweet  child  was  given  us,  our  first-born, 
a  daughter.  We  had  been  married  over  three  years, 
but  had  only  a  house.  Now  we  had  a  household  ;  and 
how  fondly  we  did  hold  the  new  treasure,  and  how  ear- 
nestly we  prayed  for  grace  to  train  the  little  one  to 
nobleness  of  life ! 

After  I  had  closed  my  private  school,  not  feeling  very 
strong,  I  went  for  a  few  months  mackerel  fishing,  as 
that  had  always  benefited  me.  My  health  was  im- 
proved, but  my  purse  only  slightly  replenished.  I  had 
lost  my  luck.  It  was  my  last  fishing  voyage. 

The  winter  following  I  kept  school  again  in  my 
native  district.  This  brought  me  in  $120,  but  hardly 
sufficed  for  the  year,  as  we  had  now  a  family  of  three. 
So  in  the  following  April  I  went  to  Charlestown  and 
took  a  job  of  work  of  Magoun  &  Turner,  which  lasted 
two  months.  During  this  time  I  attended  Dr.  Walker's 
church  (Unitarian),  took  a  class  in  his  Sunday-school, 
and  attended  his  Bible  class  meetings.  It  was  a  rare 
privilege  to  sit  under  his  preaching,  and  come  into  close 
contact  with  him.  While  there,  I  gave  a  lecture  in 
a  Methodist  chapel,  I  think  on  anti-slavery,  and  kept 
my  mind  active  as  well  as  my  hands. 

Returning  to  Scituate  in  July,  I  took  work,  to  the 
amount  of  $26,  on  a  schooner  built  on  the  North  River. 

Giving  what  time  I  could  to  reading  and  study  in  the 
autumn,  I  again,  for  the  third  time,  took  charge  of  the 
same  winter  school,  for  the  same  compensation.  About 
this  time  Horace  Mann,  as  Secretary  of  the  Board  of 
Education  in  Massachusetts,  had  worked  a  real  revival 


Preparation  for  the  Ministry  79 

in  common-school  education,  and  the  interest  spread  all 
through  the  State.  Educational  conventions  were  held 
all  round,  to  which  Mr.  May,  with  his  family  carriage, 
an  omnibus  which  would  always  hold  one  more,  would 
carry  all  who  wished  to  go.  Our  little  district  school 
caught  the  awakening,  and  I  would  sometimes  wonder 
whether,  after  all,  teaching  were  not  quite  as  high  a 
calling  as  preaching. 

After  closing  my  school,  I  set  myself  to  the  study  of 
Norton  on  the  "  Evidences  of  the  Genuineness  of  the 
Gospels,"  and  became  deeply  interested.  I  doubt  if  any 
student  at  Cambridge  studied  it  with  any  greater  inter- 
est. Mr.  May's  large  library,  and  his  larger  wisdom  and 
experience,  were  my  constant  counsellors. 

On  May  25  of  this  year,  1839,  the  heavens  were 
again  opened  in  benediction  on  our  little  home,  and 
"unto  us  a  son  was  given."  Now  we  had  a  pair  in  the 
home  nest.  We  called  him  Joseph.  It  was  the  name 
of  the  eldest  son  of  Elder  Nathaniel  from  whom  our 
branch  of  the  Tildens  descended.  He  was  a  lovely 
boy ;  and  our  hearts  were  happy,  never  for  a  moment 
doubting  that  means  would  come  to  meet  our  growing 
needs. 

I  continued  my  study  of  the  Bible,  Old  Testament  and 
New,  critical  and  exegetical,  read  Paley,  Verplanck, 
Whately,  the  German  theology,  and  Professor  Norton's 
criticism  of  it,  the  best  published  sermons  and  essays 
in  Christian  literature  and  doctrine, —  in  short,  did  what 
I  could,  with  the  best  of  teachers,  to  make  myself  ac- 
quainted with  the  best  thought  going,  I  did  not  aspire 
to  be  a  scholar,  only,  if  possible,  a  useful  Christian 
minister. 


8o  Autobiography 

Mr.  May  had  told  me,  when  he  first  spoke  his  great 
word  of  encouragement,  that  the  way  to  learn  to  preach 
was  to  preach.  But  so  far  I  had  not  attempted  to  con- 
duct a  public  service  of  worship.  I  had  spoken  with 
Mr.  May  at  school-house  and  town-house,  and  given  a 
lyceum  lecture,  but  had  never  attempted  a  Sunday  ser- 
vice. 

This  summer  Mr.  May  decided  to  visit  his  old  society 
at  Brooklyn,  Conn.  He  was  to  be  gone  two  Sundays. 
I  was  already  the  superintendent  of  his  Sunday-school  ; 
and  he  said  to  me,  "  Mr.  Tilden,  you  must  supply  the 
pulpit  while  I  am  gone."  I  saw  there  was  nothing  to 
do  but  attempt  it.  But  I  had  never  written  a  sermon, 
and  could  not  do  it  on  so  short  notice.  So  I  read  a 
printed  sermon  each  Sunday,  and  conducted  the  other 
services  as  best  I  could.  It  was  a  hard  thing  to  do  in 
the  parish  where  I  was  brought  up.  It  seemed  to  me 
I  could  have  done  it  more  easily  anywhere  else.  But 
I  saw  I  must,  or  give  up  all  idea  of  ever  preaching ; 
and  the  kindly  feelings  of  the  people,  especially  the 
encouraging  words  of  Mrs.  May,  cheered  me  greatly. 
When  Mr.  May  returned,  he  was  so  pleased  with  the 
result  that  he  gave  me  out  of  his  library  Home's  "  In- 
troduction to  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  "  in  four  vol- 
umes,—  a  very  valuable  work  in  its  day,  and  one  which 
proved  of  great  service  to  me  in  the  earlier  years  of  my 
ministry.  Soon  after  this  I  wrote  a  sermon,  that  I 
might  have  something  of  my  own  to  say  in  case  I  should 
have  another  invitation. 

But  I  still  had  to  work  occasionally  at  my  trade  to 
"keep  the  pot  boiling."  As  I  was  working  on  a  job  on 
the  North  River  one  Saturday  afternoon,  the  Rev. 


Preparation  for  the  Ministry  8 1 

George  Leonard,  of  Marshfield,  came  into  the  ship-yard. 
I  dropped  my  broad-axe  to  greet  him,  for  I  knew  him 
well.  After  the  usual  salutation,  he  told  me  he  had 
come  to  ask  me  to  give  him  a  labor  of  love  the  next 
day.  I  felt  a  little  queer  about  my  left  breast,  and  I 
presume  looked  warm ;  but  I  wiped  my  sweaty  brow, 
and  told  him  I  would  come.  My  hands  had  clasped 
the  broad-axe  handle  for  so  many  years  that  I  could 
not  possibly  straighten  them  so  as  to  touch  my  palms, 
but  the  Bible  requirement  was  for  "clean  hands,"  not 
straight  ones ;  and,  having  now  a  sermon,  I  promptly 
consented.  I  went,  and  in  Mr.  Leonard's  church,  at 
East  Marshfield,  in  June,  1839,  preached  my  first  ser- 
mon. I  have  it  now, —  not  for  inspection,  but  as  a  relic 
which  I  highly  prize.  I  find,  on  looking  on  the  back  of 
it,  that  I  gave  it  twice  the  next  month,  once  at  Pem- 
broke and  once  at  Scituate.  It  contains  no  evidence 
of  ever  having  been  preached  since. 

The  next  winter  I  taught  our  district  school  for  the 
fourth  and  last  time.  These  winter  schools  of  boys  and 
girls  of  all  ages,  from  six  to  twenty,  I  greatly  enjoyed. 
I  look  back  upon  my  work  as  a  teacher  with  great  pleas- 
ure. The  minister  of  my  boyhood,  Rev.  Samuel  Deane, 
used  to  say  of  a  certain  teacher  that  "he  could  really 
teach  more  than  he  knew."  I  don't  know  as  I  ever 
quite  came  up  to  that,  but  I  did  have  the  gift  of  teach- 
ing all  I  knew,  and  of  greatly  interesting  the  pupils  in 
their  studies.  My  youngest  sister,  Caroline,  who  was 
afterwards  distinguished  as  teacher  in  one  of  our 
State  normal  schools,  was  my  pupil.  There  was  great 
pleasure  in  starting  her  in  her  brilliant  career,  though 
she  soon  left  me  far  behind. 


82  Autobiography 

At  this  time  the  schools  were  not  graded,  save  as  I 
graded  them  naturally  into  classes.  One  of  these, 
in  which  I  took  great  delight,  I  named  "  my  class 
without  books."  I  called  them  into  the  floor,  and 
asked  them  questions  in  geography,  beginning  with  the 
geography  of  South  Scituate,  and  widening  out  to  all 
the  towns  in  the  county,  all  the  counties  in  the  State, 
all  the  States  and  Territories  in  the  United  States,  capi- 
tals, chief  mountains,  rivers,  etc.,  the  class  answering 
in  concert.  So  with  other  branches,  together  with 
questions  "on  common  things"  not  in  the  books.  This 
was  a  new  thing  at  that  time,  and  as  richly  enjoyed  by 
the  children  as  by  myself.  All  the  common-school 
studies  were  fresh  in  my  mind  from  recent  attention  to 
them,  and  the  new  methods  of  teaching  waked  new  in- 
terest in  the  school. 

But,  much  as  I  had  come  to  love  teaching,  the  old 
call  which  first  lured  me  from  the  ship-yard  still 
sounded  in  my  ears,  and  drew  me  on  in  my  ministerial 
studies. 

In  the  summer  of  1840  I  read  a  sermon  before  the 
Plymouth  and  Bay  Association  of  Ministers,  at  one  of 
their  regular  meetings.  In  the  kindness  of  their  hearts, 
the  brethren  were  pleased  to  consider  it  satisfactory, 
and  they  gave  me  what  was  called  an  "  Approbation  to 
Preach."  As  it  is  my  only  "  theological  diploma,"  I 
here  give  it  in  full :  — 

[COPY.] 

This  may  certify  that  Mr.  William  P.  Tilden  has  been  appro- 
bated as  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  by  the  Plymouth  and 
Bay  Association  of  Ministers,  and  is  hereby  recommended  to  the 


Preparation  for  the  Ministry  83 

churches  and  societies  that  may  wish  his  services  as  a  man,  in  the 
estimation  of  the  members,  well  qualified,  intellectually  and  morally, 
to  advance  the  interests  of  the  Redeemer's  Kingdom. 

Attest :  JOSIAH   MOORE. 

COH ASSET,    Aug.  12,  1840. 

During  the  spring,  summer,  and  autumn  of  this  year 
I  wrote  a  few  sermons  and  gave  labors  of  love  to  nearly 
all  the  ministers  in  the  Association.  I  was  everywhere 
kindly  received.  But,  while  words  of  encouragement 
were  sweet,  my  diffidence  made  my  early  efforts  very 
embarrassing.  I  was  not  trustful  enough  to  be  calm 
and  self-possessed.  I  was  afraid,  of  what,  I  conld  not 
tell.  I  used  to  run  away  before  service,  and  try  to 
walk  and  whip  myself  into  courage.  This  held  on  so 
long  that  I  began  to  fear  it  would  conquer  me,  and  that 
I  should  have  to  give  up  my  chosen  life-work.  But  I 
kept  on  fighting  against  it,  till  by  and  by  the  natural 
diffidence  began  to  yield,  and  I  became  more  trustful. 
One  sharp  experience  helped  me.  I  was  conducting 
the  Sunday  service  in  Hingham  for  Rev.  Mr.  Stearns 
(afterwards  D.D.).  I  was  offering  prayer,  when  all  at 
once  my  thoughts  failed  me.  My  mind  was  a  blank  ; 
not  a  word  could  I  speak  ;  I  was  dumb ;  I  seemed  sus- 
pended in  mid-air.  How  long  I  was  in  this  condition  I 
could  not  tell.  At  last  it  came  to  me,  "  Pray  for  a 
thought."  I  did  pray,  silently ;  and  the  answer  came. 
Thoughts  and  words  came,  and  I  went  on  with  the  ser- 
vice under  a  sweet  sense  of  relief  and  assistance.  It 
was  a  lesson  of  trust,  and  it  gave  me  confidence  in  the 
divine  aid. 

Late  in  the  autumn  of  1840  I  went  to  West  Bridge- 
water,  to  spend  a  Sunday  with  the  Rev.  R.  Stone,  the 


84  Autobiography 

pastor  of  the  Unitarian  church,  and  give  him  a  labor  of 
love.  Mr.  Stone  had  a  charming  wife  and  a  large 
family  of  promising  children.  He  was  very  cordial,  and 
seemed  so  well  pleased  with  the  ship-carpenter  minis- 
ter that  he  recommended  me  to  the  Unitarian  parish 
at  Norton,  whose  minister,  Rev.  Asarelah  Bridge,  was 
about  leaving. 


IX. 
EARLY   MINISTRY. 


INVITATION  TO  PREACH  IN  NORTON  AS  CANDIDATE. —  DRUNK- 
ARD'S FUNERAL. — UNANIMOUS  CALL. —  ORDINATION. — WINE 
AT  COMMUNION. —  ADIN  BALLOU. 

SOON  after  this,  as  Mary  and  I  were  sitting  in  our 
quiet  little  dining-room  and  kitchen,  both  in  one,  we  re- 
ceived a  letter  postmarked  Norton,  Mass.  We  knew 
not  a  soul  in  that  town. 

We  broke  the  seal,  and,  lo  !  it  was  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Leonard  Hodges,  asking  me  to  supply  the  Unitarian 
pulpit  four  Sundays,  as  a  candidate.  This  was  my  first 
invitation  to  preach  as  a  candidate  or  for  pay.  It  was 
what  we  had  been  looking  for  and  hoping  for  from 
some  source  before  long ;  but  this  came  so  unexpectedly 
that  it  set  our  hearts  beating  and  our  tongues  flying. 
What  sort  of  a  place  was  it  ?  What  sort  of  people  ? 
Would  they  listen  to  me  when  they  learned  that  I  had 
no  diploma  from  college  or  divinity  school  ?  All  was 
uncertain.  But  we  were  full  of  gratitude  and  hope. 
The  invitation  had  come  without  our  seeking  it.  It  did 
seem  as  if  "  He  who  feeds  the  ravens  when  they  cry  " 
had  something  to  do  with  it.  I  was  to  begin  the  next 
Sunday.  We  could  think  and  talk  of  nothing  else. 
Mary  packed  my  carpet-bag  with  unspoken  prayers  for 


86  Autobiography 

my  success,  and  on  Friday,  Nov.  6,  1840,  I  left  home, 
arriving  in  Norton  that  evening.  I  was  to  board  with 
Captain  Dauphin  King,  and  went  directly  to  his  house, 
where  I  was  kindly  received.  He  had  married  for  his 
second  wife  the  daughter  of  Rev.  Dr.  Allen,  of  Pem- 
broke, one  of  the  Association  that  approbated  me,  so 
that  I  found  myself,  though  among  entire  strangers,  not 
utterly  unknown. 

The  next  day  I  looked  round  and  took  account  of 
stock.  I  found  a  pleasant  village,  with  a  broad,  shaded 
street,  with  two  churches,  small,  but  neat,  and  nearly 
new.  The  old  parish  church  was  still  standing,  used 
for  a  town  house,  in  which  a  political  meeting  was  held 
that  very  afternoon.  An  attractive  feature  of  the  vil- 
lage was  the  Wheaton  Seminary,  established  a  few 
years  before  by  Judge  Laban  Wheaton,  the  oldest  and 
richest  man  in  the  village. 

Sunday  came,  my  first  Sunday  as  a  candidate.  Only 
the  week  before  Mr.  Bridge  had  preached  his  farewell. 
So  I  was  their  first  candidate.  I  felt  awkward  and 
constrained.  Had  a  hard  day  of  it,  in  which  the  peo- 
ple doubtless  shared.  I  made  a  melancholy  record  in 
my  journal.  I  could  not  call  my  cl^but  a  success. 

The  week  following  I  went  round  among  the  people. 
I  found  them  mostly  farmers  and  mechanics,  plain,  kind- 
hearted  people,  in  moderate  circumstances.  I  liked 
them,  and  as  they  said  nothing  disparaging  of  my  ser- 
vice, I  plucked  up  new  courage,  and  perhaps  did  a  little 
better  the  next  Sunday. 

Half  of  my  engagement  was  now  out,  and  it  might 
seem  to  some  folks  that  I  should  have  stayed  the  other 
two  Sundays  before  going  home.  But  I  couldn't  do  it, 


Early  Ministry  87 

with  Mary  and  the  children  within  thirty  miles,  and  so 
much  to  tell  them.  I  was  homesick,  and  so  started  for 
home  early  Monday  morning.  Oh,  what  a  delightful 
week  that  was  with  my  family,  and  how  we  canvassed 
the  Norton  parish  and  speculated  of  coming  events  ! 
The  next  Sunday  I  was  in  the  pulpit  again,  and  did  de- 
cidedly better,  so  that  I  wrote  in  my  journal,  "  I  have 
had  a  very  happy  day." 

Between  this  and  the  next  Sunday  came  Thanksgiv- 
ing, and  I  wrote  and  preached  my  first  Thanksgiving 
sermon,  which  proved  so  satisfactory  that  I  repeated  it 
in  the  evening  in  the  neighboring  church  at  Mansfield. 

The  next  Sunday  I  finished  my  engagement  and  held 
my  breath.  I  was  the  first  candidate.  Would  they 
hear  others  before  deciding  ?  It  was  the  common 
course.  It  seemed  reasonable.  But  the  parish  invited 
me  to  continue  with  them  till  the  ist  of  April. 

This  was  a  great  encouragement.  Here  was  a  four 
months'  engagement,  which  I  accepted  at  once.  I 
thought  that,  whatever  might  be  the  result  of  this  fur- 
ther candidating,  I  could  not  be  separated  from  my 
family  through  the  winter.  So  I  engaged  board  with 
one  of  my  parishioners,  James  O.  Messenger,  who  with 
his  wife  became  fast  friends,  and  whom  we  have  always 
held  in  high  esteem. 

I  returned  to  Scituate,  we  packed  up  such  things  as 
we  needed,  and,  taking  a  good,  full  draught  of  Mr.  May's 
spiritual  "  Elixir  of  Life,"  we  came  to  Norton  early  in 
December,  1840. 

As  I  had  but  few  sermons  to  begin  with,  and  had 
already  used  nearly  all  that  were  worth  preaching,  I  saw 
hard  work  before  me.  I  had  few  books,  and  my  mate- 


88  Autobiography 

rials  for  sermons  were  scanty ;  but  I  loved  the  religion 
of  Jesus  as  I  apprehended  it,  and  felt  a  reasonable  assur- 
ance that,  if  I  was  loyal  to  Christ,  it  would  "be  given 
me  what  I  should  speak." 

Four  years'  study  and  labor  with  Rev.  S.  J.  May,  four 
years'  fellowship  with  his  great-hearted,  philanthropic 
spirit,  had  imbued  me  thoroughly  with  the  reforms  of 
that  period.  The  trinity  of  public  evils  against  which 
I  felt  called  to  wage  unceasing  warfare  were  war,  in- 
temperance, and  slavery.  Against  all  war,  offensive  and 
defensive,  I  took  the  ultra,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
Christian  ground. 

The  New  England  Non-resistance  Society,  formed 
while  I  was  studying,  adopted  literally  the  words  of 
Jesus  :  "  Resist  not  evil.  Render  not  evil  for  evil,  but 
overcome  evil  with  good."  Quite  a  large  number  of  the 
early  anti-slavery  advocates  joined  this  society,  and  came 
out  from  all  participation  in  the  national  government 
because  it  was  based,  as  a  dernier  ressort,  on  the  right 
to  take  human  life.  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  Edmund 
Quincy,  Adin  Ballou,  Samuel  J.  May,  and  many  others, 
became  Christian  non-resistants.  Others  withdrew  from 
all  participation  in  the  government  because  the  Consti- 
tution was  interpreted  so  as  to  sanction  human  slavery, 
that  crime  of  crimes  against  God  and  humanity, —  that 
"  sum  of  all  villanies,"  as  Wesley  had  called  it. 

The  temperance  reform  was  waking  the  people  to  a 
solemn  sense  of  the  sin  of  intemperance,  such  as  was 
never  so  widely  felt  before  or  since.  We  were  in  the 
midst  of  the  great  Washingtonian  movement,  as  it  was 
called,  whose  only  method  was  moral  suasion,  which 
proved  more  effectual  in  winning  inebriates  from  their 


Early  Ministry  89 

cups  and  in  stopping  the  sale  of  intoxicating  drink  than 
any  of  the  methods  since  adopted.  Not  only  the  adult 
portion  of  the  community  became  deeply  interested,  but 
"  Cold  Water  Armies  "  for  the  children,  with  badges  and 
banners  and  music,  became  so  popular  that  it  did  seem 
as  if  the  next  generation  would  grow  up  free  from  the 
temptations  of  this  appalling  evil. 

As  I  entered  the  ministry  breathing  this  moral  at- 
mosphere, I  counted  it  joy  to  make  my  voice  heard  and 
my  influence  felt  against  this  devil's  trinity  of  evils. 

Fully  recognizing  the  necessity  of  the  gospel  for  in- 
dividual regeneration  of  heart  and  life,  I  felt  that  a  tes- 
timony must  also  be  borne  against  these  wide-spread 
national  and  social  evils,  clear  and  unmistakable.  So  I 
was  carefully  and  prayerfully  watchful  over  myself  lest, 
through  that  "fear  of  man  which  bringeth  a  snare,"  I 
should  fail  to  declare  the  whole  counsel  of  God  against 
these  sins. 

This  winter  opened  to  me  the  real  work  of  the  min- 
istry. I  had  had  no  experience  in  pastoral  duties.  I 
had  attended  one  or  two  funerals  while  I  was  at  Scituate, 
and  visited  a  few  sick  people,  but  only  as  a  lay  acquaint- 
ance, not  as  a  pastor.  Now  my  visits  to  the  sick  and 
bereaved  assumed  a  more  intimate  and  responsible 
character.  There  was  only  the  usual  amount  of  sick- 
ness and  death  in  the  parish.  But  the  ministry  to  sor- 
row these  experiences  involved,  becoming  a  personal 
matter,  bore  heavily  upon  me.  One  death  especially, 
in  the  course  of  the  winter,  was  most  painful,  not  only 
to  the  friends  of  the  deceased,  but  to  myself,  as  the 
officiating  minister. 

A    middle-aged    man,    of    intemperate   habits,    was 


90  A  ntobiography 

missed  from  his  home  in  cold  weather.  Several  days 
passed  with  no  tidings.  At  last  he  was  found  in  a  by- 
path near  the  woods,  frozen  to  death,  with  an  empty 
bottle  by  his  side.  This  termination  of  his  intemper- 
ate career  was  a  dreadful  blow  to  his  family  and  a  great 
shock  to  the  community.  The  funeral  at  his  father's 
house  was  very  largely  attended.  Some  came  from 
real  sympathy,  and  others  from  curiosity  to  know  what 
that  young  carpenter-minister  could  say.  It  was  a  try- 
ing service  for  me.  There  sat  father  and  mother, 
brothers  and  sisters,  in  heart-breaking  grief.  Sym- 
pathy with  them  whispered,  "  Oh,  do  not  say  one  word 
to  lacerate  their  stricken  hearts  !"  But  the  neighbors, 
friends,  and  townsmen  rilling  the  rooms,  and  grouped 
in  the  yard  around  the  door, —  some  of  them,  I  feared, 
still  tampering  with  the  seductive  foe, — how  could  I 
be  true  to  my  conscience  without  trying  to  voice  the 
solemn  warning  to  them?  I  was  in  "a  strait  betwixt 
two."  Sympathy  pleading  for  silence  as  to  the  cause 
of  the  sad  event,  and  conscience  calling,  as  by  a  voice 
from  heaven,  to  interpret  truthfully  this  solemn  warn- 
ing, I  felt  the  full  force  of  Pierpont's  lines,  written 
under  similar  circumstances  :  — 

"  But  oh ! 

If  thou'st  a  heart  that  pity  e'er  hath  touched, 

Pity   him  who   sacrifice    of   prayer   must   offer   at   a   drunkard's 
funeral." 

I  spoke  as  it  was  given  me,  in  heartfelt  sympathy  and 
faithful  warning,  and  I  believe  no  offence  was  given.  I 
seemed  to  be  swept  through  the  strait  by  the  force  of 
the  current,  rather  than  by  good  steering,  so  that  I 
escaped  being  wrecked  on  either  Scylla  or  Charybdis. 


Early  Ministry  91 

As  the  winter  wore  away,  I  tried  to  give  full  and  free 
expression  to  all  my  reform  views,  so  that  the  people 
might  fully  understand  my  position  before  the  time 
came  for  them  to  say  whether  or  not  they  would  call 
me  to  be  their  pastor.  As  I  had  not  been  ordained,  I 
could  not  legalize  a  marriage.  But  some  of  the  young 
people,  being  more  sure  of  my  remaining  than  I  was, 
were  willing  to  wait. 

Finally,  on  the  i5th  of  March,  two  weeks  before  the 
expiration  of  my  engagement,  the  parish  held  a  meet- 
ing, and  I  was  invited,  by  a  very  large  vote, —  fifty-nine 
yeas,  two  nays, —  to  become  their  pastor  for  two  years. 
The  limit  to  two  years  was  at  my  own  request.  My 
salary  was  fixed  at  six  hundred  dollars  per  year,  one 
hundred  more  than  they  had  given  their  former  minis- 
ter. 

Having  already  become  attached  to  the  people,  and 
highly  gratified  with  the  unanimity  of  the  call,  I  readily 
and  gladly  accepted. 

The  time  for  my  ordination  was  fixed  for  April  I4th, 
1840.  On  the  1 2th  we  began  keeping  house  in  the 
parsonage,  built  by  Madame  Bowen,  who  permitted  the 
parish  to  use  it  without  rent.  On  the  I3th  we  had  a 
violent  snow-storm,  which  so  completely  blocked  the 
ways  as  to  render  passing  next  to  impossible.  This, 
for  the  middle  of  April,  was  very  unusual.  The  next 
day,  the  day  set  apart  for  my  ordination,  was  bright  and 
clear,  the  snow-drifts  wreathed  with  diamonds  shining  in 
the  sunlight  like  gems  of  the  first  water.  But  only 
three  ministers  and  one  delegate  put  in  an  appearance 
from  the  thirteen  churches  invited. 


92  Autobiography 

But  the  day  was  so  delightful  overhead  that  our 
parishioners  broke  through  the  snow,  and  made  a  fair 
show  in  the  church.  So,  while  the  ordination  was  post- 
poned for  one  week,  it  was  decided  to  hold  a  service, 
and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Arnold,  of  Fall  River,  one  of  the  three 
present,  gave  an  admirable  sermon.  When  the  day  to 
which  the  ordination  was  adjourned  came,  April  21,  it 
proved  about  as  copious  a  rain-storm  as  the  snow-storm 
of  the  1 3th.  But,  as  some  of  the  pastors  and  delegates 
came  the  day  before,  we  had  enough  to  form  the  coun- 
cil. 

Among  those  who  took  part  in  my  ordination  were 
my  dear  Mr.  May,  who  preached  the  sermon,  my  kind 
neighbor,  Dr.  Bigelow,  who  offered  the  ordaining  prayer, 
and  my  true  friend,  Mr.  Samuel  Sewall,  who  gave  me 
the  charge.  My  sister  Lucy  wrote  two  beautiful  hymns 
for  the  occasion,  and  it  was  a  happy  day. 

So  I  was  launched  into  the  ministry,  after  having 
been  on  the  stocks  four  or  five  years,  giving  time  for 
the  green  timber  to  season,  but  with  an  outfit  of  spare 
sails  and  rigging  too  limited  to  justify  any  ministerial 
"  insurance  company  "  in  taking  the  risk. 

I  preached  the  next  Sunday  morning  from  the  text, 
"  Do  the  work  of  an  evangelist  "  ;  and,  in  looking  it  over 
the  other  day,  I  could  but  wonder  that  I  did  so  well.  It 
was  a  broad,  earnest  statement  of  the  work  of  an  evan- 
gelist, as  I  apprehended  it,  a  fervent  plea  for  a  higher 
life  in  the  individual  and  in  the  church,  a  life  more  con- 
formed to  the  teaching  and  life  of  Christ. 

The  second  Sunday  after  I  was  ordained  I  performed 
my  first  marriage  service  by  joining  two  of  our  young 
people,  who  afterwards  became  members  of  the  church, 


Early  Ministry  93 

Earl  C.  White  and  Elizabeth  A.  Sweet.  They  are  still 
living, —  1888, —  with  children  and  grandchildren  to 
"  rise  up  and  call  them  blessed."  Several  others,  as  if 
waiting  for  the  opportunity,  followed  before  long.  I 
soon  began  to  preach  on  the  proper  way  of  bringing  up 
children,  the  common  theme  for  young  ministers.  As 
they  grow  older  and  gain  a  larger  experience,  the  con- 
fident tone  of  these  juvenile  efforts  is  usually  quite  sen- 
sibly modified. 

I  was  made  a  member  of  the  school  committee,  in  the 
duties  of  which  my  four  years'  experience  in  teaching 
made  me  feel  at  home. 

Soon  the  wave  of  temperance  interest,  sweeping  over 
the  eastern  part  of  Massachusetts,  broke  in  refreshing 
on  our  village.  Pierpont,  Dr.  Jewett,  and  others  from 
abroad,  visited  us  ;  and,  with  the  cordial  co-operation  of 
ministers  and  laymen,  there  was  a  wide-spread  awaken- 
ing, in  which  many,  young  and  old,  signed  the  pledge, 
among  whom  were  some  hard  drinkers. 

The  use  of  alcoholic  wine  at  the  communion  had 
long  troubled  me ;  and  for  some  time  I  had  refused  the 
cup  when  it  was  presented  to  me,  feeling  that  the  cause 
of  the  Master  was  better  served  in  the  breach  than  in 
the  observance.  I  could  not  deem  it  right  to  com- 
memorate the  world's  Redeemer  by  the  use  of  an  in- 
toxicating beverage  which  was  deluging  the  world  with 
woe.  Knowing  that  my  own  hands  must  soon  present 
the  symbols,  I  was  greatly  anxious  to  substitute  some- 
thing else  for  the  deleterious  compounds  often  sold  for 
wine.  I  laid  the  matter  before  the  church  with  great 
solicitude,  for  I  knew  the  power  of  old  custom  and  the 
difficulty  of  breaking  away  from  old  usage.  I  presented 


94  Autobiography 

the  case  to  them  as  it  lay  in  my  mind,  and,  to  my  great 
joy,  there  was  not  one  dissenting  voice  to  the  proposal 
to  substitute  the  pure  juice  of  the  grape  from  bloom 
raisins  for  alcoholic  wine.  So  that  at  the  first  com- 
munion administered  by  myself  I  had  the  great  satis- 
faction of  using  the  fruit  of  the  vine,  free  from  all  in- 
toxicating elements. 

The  national  Fourth  of  July  came  on  Sunday  this 
year.  It  was  my  first  Fourth  as  an  ordained  minister, 
and  the  way  I  improved  the  occasion  is  indicated  by 
this  brief  note  in  my  journal :  — 

Sunday,  July  4,  1841.  —  Have  celebrated  Independence  by 
preaching  all  day  upon  the  heaven-daring  sins  our  country  is 
committing  by  continuing  to  make  merchandise  of  the  image 
of  God.  I  pray  that  I  may  not  have  spoken  in  vain. 

This  was  in  the  early  stages  of  the  anti-slavery 
movement,  when  Church  and  State  were  united  to  hold 
the  slave  in  his  chains,  and  put  down  the  incendiary 
fanatics  who  believed  in  a  "higher  law"  than  that  on 
the  statute  book. 

This  summer  I  exchanged  with  Rev.  Adin  Ballou,  of 
Mendon,  and  became  acquainted  with  this  remarkable 
man.  He  belonged  to  what  was  then  called  the 
"  Restorationists,"  a  branch  of  Universalists  who 
believed,  as  all  Unitarians  do  now,  that  all  God's 
children  will  finally  be  restored  to  holiness  in  this 
world  or  the  next.  He  was  the  finest  Scriptural 
interpreter  I  have  ever  met.  He  knew  the  Bible  by 
heart,  and  in  textual  criticism  was  a  "  well-instructed 
scribe."  He  often  encountered  Orthodox  believers  in 
public  debate,  and  both  on  account  of  his  rational  views 


Early  Ministry  95 

and  his  intellectual  power  was  a  formidable  opponent. 
He  was  an  uncompromising  non-resistant,  deeply  inter- 
ested in  all  reforms.  He  and  a  small  company  of  kin- 
dred spirits  started  a  "  Practical  Christian  Community  " 
at  Milford,  in  which  they  hoped  to  realize  a  higher  and 
purer  type  of  Christian  life.  I  visited  with  him  the 
lovely  spot  where  they  endeavored  to  found  the  new 
kingdom,  and  rejoiced  with  them  in  the  experiment  of 
faith.  But,  alas  !  like  most  other  attempts  made  at  that 
time  to  lift  human  life  by  association  and  withdrawal 
from  the  world,  it  failed,  and  in  a  few  years  the  com- 
munity was  dissolved,  giving  place  to  a  rapidly  growing 
and  very  beautiful  village. 

It  was  a  great  grief  to  Mr.  Ballou,  who,  in  giving  up 
the  "  community  "  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart,  still 
retained,  and  holds  to  this  day,  in  serene  old  age,  his 
loyalty  to  non-resistance  as  the  clear  doctrine  of  Christ. 
He  is  the  American  Tolstoi',  with  as  deep  a  conviction 
as  his  Russian  fellow-believer  that  evil  can  be  over- 
come only  by  good. 


X. 

EARLY    MINISTRY    (continued}. 
i 840-44. 

DEATH  OF  LITTLE  JOSEPH. —  COLLINS  AND  DOUGLASS. —  LATI- 
MER.—  RELIGIOUS  AWAKENING. —  DEATH  OF  MR.  BOND. 
—  BIRTH  OF  WILLIAM  PHILLIPS  TILDEN,  JR. —  DEATH  OF 
MRS.  TURNER. —  ILL  HEALTH. 

THE  weeks  swept  on,  and  I  was  happy  in  my  work. 
But  a  cloud  was  gathering  in  our  clear  home  sky  that 
we  wot  not  of.  On  the  morning  of  September  6  we 
perceived  that  our  darling  Joseph  was  ill.  He  had 
always  been  a  very  healthy  child,  full  of  overflowing  life, 
just  beginning  "to  talk  in  broken  words,  which  were 
music  to  a  mother's  ear,"  and  father's,  too.  He  was  not 
very  sick  at  first,  but  on  the  third  day  he  suddenly  left 
us.  Even  on  the  morning  of  that  day  he  did  not  seem 
dangerously  ill.  When  the  doctor  came,  he  said  he 
could  check  the  disease  soon.  He  gave  medicine,  and 
in  a  few  hours  little  Joseph  died  in  convulsions.  It 
was  so  sudden  it  seemed  unreal.  But  we  found  it 
a  dreadful  reality.  It  was  our  first  household  sorrow. 
To  add  to  our  grief  was  the  haunting  fear  that  there 
had  been  a  misjudgment  in  regard  to  the  medicine,  the 
darling  went  so  soon  after  taking  it.  With  some  other 
treatment  might  not  his  sweet  life  have  been  spared  ? 
The  idea  was  anguish.  We  found  relief  at  last  in  the 


Early  Ministry  97 

thought  that,  supposing  our  dreadful  fears  to  be  true, 
we  could  not  help  it.  We  had  done  what  we  thought 
was  right  in  committing  him  to  the  doctor's  care.  He 
had  done  what  he  thought  was  right,  and  there  can  be 
no  higher  rule  of  action  for  us  than  to  do  what  seems 
right  at  the  time.  More  light  may  show  us  a  better 
way ;  but,  when  we  do  what  seems  right  with  the  light 
we  have,  it  is  right,  whatever  the  result.  The  lesson 
so  painfully  learned  has  been  a  comfort  through  life. 
But  the  sorrow  was  great.  The  dear  God  only  knew 
how  sick  our  hearts  were.  Oh,  how  sweetly  he  looked 
in  his  little  casket !  It  was  a  comfort  to  sit  with 
him  alone.  It  did  not  seem  like  death,  but  an  angel 
asleep.  Sometimes,  as  I  thought  of  him  in  heaven, 
a  sweet  peace  would  come;  and  I  would  feel  as  if  I 
should  never  be  so  wretched  again  ;  and  then,  even  as 
the  peace  was  upon  me,  my  great  sorrow  would  roll 
back  like  a  wave,  and  I  could  only  bow  my  head  and  let 
it  break,  till  the  sunlight  again  appeared  through  the 
blinding  spray. 

He  was  indeed  a  precious  boy,  so  intelligent,  so 
affectionate,  so  full  of  life  and  joy  and  gladness.  He 
was  so  handsome,  too.  His  large,  full  eyes  were  open 
windows  for  his  soul,  and  his  smile  and  rollicking  laugh 
were  enchanting.  Dear  angel  boy,  you  did  not  leave 
us  utterly.  You  rose  out  of  our  sight,  but  still  re- 
mained in  our  hearts  to  make  real  the  unseen  and  eter- 
nal. We  had  much  still  to  be  thankful  for.  One  was 
taken,  but  the  other  was  left ;  and  dear  Laura  became, 
if  possible,  still  more  precious,  now  her  little  brother 
had  gone  to  "join  the  choir  invisible." 

The  ladies  of  the  parish  united  in  the  erection  of  a 


9  8  Autobiography 

chaste  marble  shaft  over  his  grave,  on  which  are  in- 
scribed only  the  two  words 

LITTLE   JOSEPH. 

It  was  enclosed  with  a  circular  wooden  fence,  which  has 
been  kept  by  fresh  painting  from  the  wear  and  tear  of 
time  by  our  good  friend  James  O.  Messenger  for  now 
forty-seven  years. 

Up  to  this  time  I  had  often  been  called  to  sympathize 
with  such  sorrows  as  ours,  and  thought  I  did  so.  But 
this  experience  was  a  new  revelation  to  me  of  the  depths 
of  such  sorrow,  and  I  think  my  ministry  ever  after  took 
on  a  new  tenderness  born  of  this  great  experience. 

About  a  month  after  this  we  were  glad  to  receive  a 
visit  from  my  father  and  his  new  wife.  After  remain- 
ing a  widower  more  than  four  years,  he  married  Mrs. 
Benson  of  Scituate,  a  widow  with  two  children.  I  was 
glad  to  have  father  marry  again,  for  he  was  a  dear 
lover  of  home. 

Caroline  had  been  preparing  for  a  teacher  at  the 
Bridgewater  Normal  School,  and  Lucy  felt  the  need  of 
doing  something  for  herself. 

Father's  visit  was  brief, —  he  never  could  bear  to  be 
away  from  home  more  than  one  night ;  but  it  cheered 
our  hearts  to  know  that  henceforth  he  would  have  a 
companion  for  his  old  age.  After  we  left  South  Scit- 
uate, I  invited  father  to  take  my  house,  which  was 
more  convenient  and  comfortable. 

Not  long  after  this  the  old  house  took  fire  from 
some  unknown  cause  one  night,  and  was  burned  to 
ashes.  Now  there  is  nothing  left  but  the  old  cellar, 
well,  and  enclosed  walls  to  tell  of  the  dear  spot  where 
the  most  of  my  boyhood  and  early  manhood  was  spent. 


Early  Ministry  99 

A  few  Sundays  later,  as  I  was  speaking  to  our  Sunday- 
school,  a  gentleman  came  in  whom  I  knew  as  the  agent 
of  the  Massachusetts  Anti-slavery  Society, —  John  A. 
Collins.  He  came  to  say  that  he  and  Fred  Douglass,  a 
man  just  escaped  from  slavery,  would  hold  an  anti- 
slavery  meeting  on  Wednesday  evening  next  in  our 
church.  I  was  glad  of  the  announcement,  and  due 
notice  was  given. 

The  time  came,  and  the  meeting  was  a  grand  one. 
Collins  was  a  man  of  marked  ability,  but  the  fugitive 
slave  Douglass  was  the  great  attraction.  He  was  just 
out  of  slavery.  He  had  spoken  at  an  anti-slavery  meet- 
ing a  little  while  before  at  New  Bedford,  where  he  was 
working,  and  the  friends  of  the  cause  were  so  impressed 
by  his  spirit  that  they  engaged  him  at  once  to  speak 
at  their  meetings.  We  saw  he  was  no  ordinary  man. 
Though  born  and  bred  in  slavery,  he  had  the  manners 
and  speech  of  a  gentleman.  There  was  no  lingering 
of  negro  dialect.  He  spoke  good,  honest,  trenchant 
Saxon,  with  great  calmness  and  self-possession.  The 
leading  characteristics  which  have  since  distinguished 
him  as  a  debater  and  orator  were  manifest  then.  He 
was  born  to  them.  His  pose  and  power  were  Web- 
sterian,  and,  although  we  little  dreamed  then  that  he 
would  one  day  be  Chief  Marshal  of  the  city  of  Wash- 
ington, still  we  saw  that  he  was  a  man  of  unusual  power 
and  promise.  They  spent  the  night  with  us,  and  we 
found  Douglass  as  charming  in  the  home  as  on  the 
platform.  He  was  a  lover  of  children.  Laura  was 
then  a  little  girl  of  four.  I  remember  how  he  swung 
her  on  to  his  shoulder,  and  marched  round  with  her 
as  a  conquering  hero. 

I  had   a  nice  parsonage  garden.     As  the   soil  was 


TOO  Autobiography 

light  and  the  hoeing  easy,  I  kept  it  quite  free  from 
weeds.  But  on  another  part  of  the  acre  lot,  where  the 
soil  was  heavier  and  the  weeds  more  persistent,  the 
appearapce  was  not  so  pleasant  to  the  eye  of  a  careful 
farmer.  When  my  brother  Albert,  who  always  loved 
a  joke,  came  to  see  me,  he  said  he  knew  when  he  got 
to  my  house  by  the  weeds  in  the  garden. 

I  must  confess  to  my  grandchildren  that  I  was  never 
much  of  a  farmer,  and  that  I  grow  no  better  as  I  grow 
older.  The  part  of  gardening  I  like  best  is  laying 
down  to  grass.  That  requires  no  hoeing. 

In  the  spring-time  of  this  year  I  bought  a  little 
black  pacer  at  auction  for  twenty  dollars,  and  my  friend 
Mr.  Messenger,  who  was  a  painter,  fitted  up  a  light 
covered  carryall.  We  put  the  two  together,  and  used 
them  in  common.  The  team  was  not  gay,  but  very 
convenient  for  parish  calls,  visiting  schools,  and  making 
exchanges. 

Another  Thanksgiving  came  and  found  us  well,  but 
lonely.  We  missed  little  Joseph  so  much  all  the  time, 
but  especially  at  the  dear  old  home  festival.  My  duties 
as  school  committee,  occasional  lectures  on  temperance, 
and  other  reforms  out  of  town,  in  connection  with  my 
ordinary  parish  work,  kept  me  constantly  occupied. 
But  I  was  well,  and  enjoyed  my  labors.  Occasional 
letters  from  dear  Mr.  May,  and  one  good  visit  from 
him  and  sister  Caroline,  were  a  real  refreshment.  We 
talked  over  the  new  thought  of  the  times,  criticised 
everybody  but  ourselves,  and  set  the  wayward  world  to 
rights  with  great  satisfaction. 

The  next  year,  1842,  Mr.  May  received  and  accepted 
an  earnest  invitation,  made  well-nigh  imperative 


Early  Ministry  101 

through  the  entreaty  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Board  of 
Education,  Hon.  Horace  Mann,  to  become  the  princi- 
pal of  the  Normal  School  at  Lexington.  He  insisted 
that  my  sister  Caroline,  who  had  been  educated  at  the 
Bridgewater  Normal  School,  and  had  proved  herself  a 
promising  and  competent  teacher,  should  go  with  him 
and  take  the  charge  of  mathematics,  in  which  she  ex- 
celled. After  this  I  saw  little  of  Mr.  May,  and  even 
his  letters  were  infrequent  from  his  arduous  duties. 

During  this  year  my  labors  were  unremitting.  I 
don't  remember  whether  I  had  ever  heard  of  "a  sum- 
mer vacation  "  at  that  time  ;  but  I  am  sure  I  had  none, 
nor  for  many  years  after. 

A  deepening  religious  interest  began  to  show  itself 
in  the  parish  generally  this  year.  We  held  social  re- 
ligious meetings  at  the  parsonage  and  private  houses, 
and  the  Sunday  attendance  was  cheering  in  numbers 
and  interest. 

The  year  1842  opened  auspiciously,  and  I  worked  on 
in  faith  and  hope.  I  began  to  get  accustomed  to  my 
changed  life,  and  the  professional  harness  came  to  set 
easier  and  chafe  less. 

The  anniversary  meetings  in  Boston  were  occasions 
of  great  interest  to  me.  The  anti-slavery  movement, 
growing  stronger  every  day,  made  them  lively  occa- 
sions. Only  a  small  number  of  Unitarian  ministers  had 
then  espoused  the  cause, —  S.  J.  May,  John  Pierpont, 
Caleb  Stetson,  and  a  few  others  of  less  note.  The  op- 
position to  these  men  and  the  cause  they  represented 
was  bitter  and  strong.  There  was  a  determination  not 
to  hear  them.  Even  Mr.  May,  honored  as  he  was,  was 
not  allowed  to  speak  through  the  pages  of  our  only 


1 02  A  ntobiograpJiy 

monthly,  the  Christian  Examiner.  But  the  fierce  oppo- 
sition made  the  annual  meetings  all  the  more  exciting ; 
and  they  became  to  me,  secluded  from  my  brethren  all 
the  rest  of  the  year  by  constant  home  work,  seasons  of 
great  interest  and  quickening. 

In  the  autumn  of  1842  George  Latimer,  a  fugitive 
slave,  was  caught  and  thrown  into  jail  in  Boston,  for 
safe  keeping,  by  his  master.  From  the  jail  he  sent  a 
petition  to  the  churches  "for  their  prayers."  It  was  a 
spark  that  caught  wherever  there  was  enough  tinder 
of  human  sympathy  to  hold  it.  The  flame  was  seen 
and  felt  in  many  churches  where  sincere  prayers  were 
offered  for  the  restoration  of  the  imprisoned  fugitive. 
On  the  Sunday  the  request  for  prayer  was  read  and 
answered  in  our  church  I  took  occasion  to  preach  from 
the  words  of  Jesus,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it 
unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have 
done  it  unto  me." 

When  the  two  years  for  which  I  was  settled  had  ex- 
pired, I  was  promptly  and  unanimously  invited  to  con- 
tinue my  ministry,  with  no  limitation  of  time. 

I  accepted  ;  for  there  was  entire  harmony  of  feeling, 
and  the  religious  interest  seemed  to  be  steadily  deep- 
ening. Many,  both  young  and  old,  were  waked  to  new- 
ness of  life.  Among  them  was  an  old  man  whose  ex- 
perience was  deeply  interesting.  He  must  have  been 
near  seventy,  and  for  many  years  had  led  a  very  intem- 
perate life.  Sometimes  in  his  crazy,  drunken  fits  we 
could  hear  his  wild  cries  in  the  night,  though  he  lived 
far  away.  He  had  probably  not  been  inside  a  meeting 
house  for  years.  But  one  Sunday  he  came,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  everybody.  Whether  from  anything  he  heard 


Early  Ministry  103 

or  from  the  spiritual  atmosphere  of  the  place  I  know 
not,  but  he  came  again.  He  was  deeply  thoughtful. 
He  gave  fixed  attention  ;  and  soon  he  accepted  the  in- 
vitation to  stop  after  the  morning  service  to  the  Bible 
class.  His  soul  was  melted  into  contrition  for  his  past 
life.  He  said  little  at  first,  but  the  tears  streaming 
down  his  cheeks  told  of  the  inward  struggle  his  soul 
was  passing  through.  Finally,  as  he  began  to  speak 
more  freely,  he  told  us  how  hard  it  was  for  him  to  be- 
lieve that  he  could  be  forgiven.  He  had  sinned  so 
long,  sinned  so  deeply,  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that 
Divine  Love  itself  could  forgive  him.  At  last  the  light 
of  a  sweet  peace  shone  through  his  tears,  and  the  morn- 
ing of  a  new  life  broke  upon  the  old  man's  soul. 
Awhile  after,  when  we  saw  the  change  was  real,  he 
was  welcomed  to  the  church,  and  remained  to  his 
death,  years  after,  a  worthy  member  of  the  church  and 
a  respectable  citizen.  It  was  one  of  the  best  possible 
answers  to  Nicodemus:  "How  can  a  man  be  born 
when  he  is  old  ? " 

In  the  spring  of  1843  tne  husband  of  my  eldest  sis- 
ter, Philenda,  died  quite  suddenly,  leaving  her  with 
three  children.  He  was  a  strong,  healthy  man,  and  a 
very  true  and  noble  character.  I  loved  him  as  an  own 
brother.  His  father  and  mother  and  sister  were  of  the 
old  Puritan  school  in  theology,  but  he  was  an  earnest 
Unitarian,  and  was  deeply  interested  in  my  studying 
for  the  ministry.  He  gave  me  Clarke's  "  Commentary 
on  the  New  Testament,"  which  at  that  time,  when  I 
had  but  few  books,  was  of  great  assistance  to  me. 

Passing  over  the  ordinary  experiences  and  labors  of 
parish  work,  I  come  to  a  white  day  in  our  parsonage 


IO4  Autobiography 

home.  Aug.  23,  1843, —  on  this  day  another  sweet  boy 
was  given  us.  At  first  he  looked  like  our  little  Joseph  ; 
but  after  a  week  or  two  the  likeness  faded.  We  did 
not  regret  this ;  for  we  were  glad  to  keep  the  image  of 
that  angel  boy  fresh  in  our  remembrance,  not  absorbed 
by  or  blended  with  any  other.  We  wished  to  remem- 
ber Joseph  as  our  own  dear  boy,  still  a  member  of  our 
little  family,  though  unseen.  So  we  did  not  name  our 
new  gift  from  heaven  after  him,  as  is  so  often  done. 
That  would  seem  as  if  we  regarded  Joseph  as  lost  to 
us,  and  sought  to  fill  his  place  with  another.  Mary 
said,  "  We  will  call  the  little  one  William  Phillips,"  and 
it  was  done.  Since  he  has  grown  up,  he  may  not  thank 
us  for  making  him  a  Jr. ;  but  it  was  with  the  hope  and 
prayer  that  he  would  prove  senior  in  nobleness  of  life. 

In  January,  1844,  my  dear  sister  Sarah,  Mrs.  Will- 
iam Turner,  died.  She  had  been  sick  for  many  months 
of  consumption,  and  left  a  husband  and  five  beautiful 
children,  three  sons  and  two  daughters.  She  was  a 
true  wife  and  mother,  a  sweet  sister,  a  noble  woman. 

I  visited  her  at  her  home  in  South  Scituate  a  little 
while  before  she  died.  I  found  her  calm  and  trustful. 
She  knew  she  could  not  stay  long,  but,  strong  as  her 
love  was  for  her  family,  she  was  willing  to  go,  seeing  it 
was  the  Father's  will.  She  was  the  first  of  the  chil- 
dren to  go  after  dear  mother.  She  was  married  when 
about  twenty,  and  died  at  thirty-five, —  a  life  crowded 
with  household  duties,  which  she  performed  with 
marked  ability,  finding  her  highest  joy  in  her  home. 

Early  in  1844,  as  the  winter  broke  up,  my  health 
broke  down.  It  was  not  strange,  for  the  change  in  the 
habits  of  my  life  since  becoming  a  minister  was  great, 


Early  Ministry  105 

and  the  duties  of  the  last  year,  especially,  had  been 
very  arduous  and  constant.  The  break-down  was  quite 
sudden.  It  was  a  general  collapse.  It  would  now  be 
called  nervous  prostration.  It  had  no  name  then,  but 
it  was  the  same  dread  reality.  I  could  not  read,  I 
could  not  write,  I  could  not  work :  even  a  paragraph 
in  a  newspaper  upset  me.  I  saw  I  must  quit  for  a 
season,  and  asked  release  from  duty  for  two  months. 
I  supplied  the  pulpit  largely  by  exchanges.  Mary  and 
the  children  went  to  our  old,  sweet  refuge,  where  we 
always  found  a  welcome,  Aunt  Tempie's  in  Charles- 
town  ;  and  I  became  a  circulating  medium,  managing 
to  pass  without  challenge,  though  conscious  of  much 
alloy  in  my  constitution.  I  gave  myself,  as  far  as  I 
could,  to  recreation.  The  gate  of  thinking  and  writing 
had  been  shut  down  for  me,  and  I  had  no  desire  to  lift 
it.  I  simply  rested,  using  old  sermons  on  Sunday. 


XI. 

CONCORD    MINISTRY. 

1844-1848. 

VISIT  TO  CONCORD. —  STEPHEN   S.    FOSTER. —  INVITATION  TO 
REMAIN. —  FAREWELL  TO    NORTON.—  BIRTH  OF  GEORGE. 

—  CHRISTENING. —  INVITATION  TO  REMAIN  ANOTHER  YEAR. 

—  DEATH  OF  MRS.  LEWIS. —  FIRST  PUBLISHED  SERMON. — 
MEXICAN  WAR. —  MILITARY  CONVENTION. —  WHITE  MOUN- 
TAINS.—  SECOND  PUBLISHED  SERMON. —  THIRD  PUBLISHED 
SERMON.  —  FAREWELL    TO     CONCORD.  —  DOVER.  —  CARO- 
LINE'S DEATH. 

DURING  my  rest  I  was  invited  to  supply  the  pulpit 
at  Concord,  N.H.,  one  Sunday,  and,  engaging  a  supply 
for  my  own  pulpit,  I  went.  I  had  never  before  been 
to  this  beautiful  inland  city  on  the  Merrimack,  the  cap- 
ital of  New  Hampshire.  I  was  delighted  with  the 
place.  The  Rev.  M.  G.  Thomas,  who  was  their  first 
minister,  and  had  been  with  them  fifteen  years,  had 
just  resigned,  but  still  lived  in  a  beautiful  house  on 
a  swell1  of  land  just  on  the  fringe  of  the  city.  I  found 
a  pleasant  church,  a  good  congregation,  and  had  a  de- 
lightful time. 

I  was  the  guest  of  Brother  and  Sister  Thomas.  I 
found  them  charming  people.  Then  began  a  friend- 
ship which  proved  life-long. 

The  parishioners  were  very  kind  in  their  expressions 
of  interest  in  my  services;  and  I  left  them  feeling  that 


Concord  Ministry  107 

I  had  enjoyed  a  delightful  season,  in  a  delightful  place, 
with  a  delightful  people. 

The  Concord  people  were  anxious  to  hear  me  again, 
and  soon  after  they  sent  one  of  their  leading  men,  Col. 
William  Kent,  to  Norton  to  talk  with  me  about  coming 
to  Concord,  at  least  for  the  season.  He  knew  I  had 
been  off  duty  from  illness  ;  and  so  he  urged  the  healthi- 
ness of  the  place,  as  well  as  the  desire  of  the  people, 
with  most  persuasive  eloquence.  I  yielded  so  far  as  to 
say  I  would  come  again  for  two  Sundays. 

Being  anxious  to  have  them  understand  my  reform 
views,  I  took  sermons  which  clearly  expressed  my 
ideas  in  relation  to  the  disturbing  topics  of  the  day. 
I  would  have  them  fully  understand  what  they  were 
doing  in  giving  me  a  call. 

One  interesting  circumstance  gave  me  a  fine  oppor- 
tunity for  testing  them.  There  had  just  been  a  great 
excitement  in  town,  and  especially  in  the  churches,  on 
the  anti-slavery  question.  Stephen  S.  Foster,  a  young 
man  who  had  studied  for  an  Orthodox  minister,  but, 
becoming  interested  in  anti-slavery,  left  the  ministry 
and  the  Church  because  of  their  opposition  to  the 
movement  for  the  slave,  had  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to 
go  into  one  of  the  large  Orthodox  churches  in  Concord 
and  bear  his  testimony  against  the  heaven-daring  evil. 
He  did  this  without  permission,  in  the  midst  of  the 
service.  It  was  a  most  unwarrantable  thing  to  do. 
But  the  society  met  it  in  an  unfortunate  way.  Certain 
of  their  number,  indignant  at  such  disturbance  of  their 
service,  rose  and  dragged  him  out  of  the  church. 

As  he  was  a  non-resistant,  he  just  "decomposed" 
his  muscles  and  left  them  to  do  it  all,  without  any  of 


1 08  A  utobiograpJiy 

his  assistance.  It  imposed  a  hard  task  on  four  men. 
But  they  at  last  landed  him  on  the  outer  steps.  Of 
course,  it  was  town's  talk;  and,  though  few  justified 
Foster,  many  saw  that  the  church  method  of  dealing 
with  him  could  hardly  be  justified  on  Christian  grounds. 
Foster  soon  after  married  Miss  Abby  Kelly,  another 
come-outer.  They  were  lecturing  at  this  time  together. 
Hearing,  probably,  that  I  was  anti-slavery  in  my  senti- 
ment, they  both  came  one  Sunday  to  our  church.  I 
saw  them  in  the  congregation.  As  I  closed  my  ser- 
mon, I  said,  "  I  see  we  have  with  us  to-day  friends  who 
are  giving  themselves  to  the  cause  of  the  slave,  and 
who  always  count  it  a  privilege  to  speak  in  behalf  of 
the  bondman.  And  I  venture  to  do  here  what  I  should 
do  in  my  own  church,  and  to  invite  them  cordially  to 
say  anything  which  their  hearts  prompt." 

Foster  rose,  and  said,  very  modestly,  "that  he  had 
nothing  special  to  say.  He  had  listened  to  a  sermon 
that  had  interested  him,  and  he  hoped  that  the  time  was 
not  far  distant  when  such  sentiments  would  be  heard 
from  all  the  pulpits  in  the  land." 

I  thought  that,  if  the  people  invited  me  to  become 
their  minister  after  this,  they  would  do  it  with  their 
eyes  open,  at  their  own  risk.  And  they  did.  The 
treatment  was  in  such  contrast  to  the  "  dragging  out " 
that  the  parishioners,  instead  of  being  disturbed  by  it, 
were  highly  gratified,  and  gave  me  a  cordial  invitation 
to  remain  with  them. 

I  could  not  say  certainly  till  I  returned  to  Nor- 
ton. I  found  my  dear  people  very  unwilling  I  should 
leave.  It  was  a  severe  struggle  to  decide  to  do  so  ; 
but,  as  my  health  was  so  poor,  and  the  change  of  cli- 


Concord  Ministry  109 

mate  and  scene  was  so  desirable,  we  thought  it  best,  on 
the  whole,  to  go  for  one  year  on  trial. 

They  offered  me  seven  hundred  a  year ;  but  it  was 
not  the  difference  in  salary,  but  the  hope  of  regaining 
my  health,  that  influenced  my  decision. 

But  it  was  hard  going.  I  had  become  strongly  at- 
tached to  my  people,  and  they  to  me.  They  were  my 
first  love.  I  had  been  with  them  in  sorrow  and  joy 
nearly  four  years  from  the  time  of  my  first  supply  of 
their  pulpit.  I  was  a  member  of  the  school  committee 
ever  after  I  was  ordained.  This  had  made  me  inter- 
ested in  the  children  of  the  town.  My  interest  in 
temperance  and  other  social  reforms  had  given  me  a 
wide-spread  acquaintance ;  and  it  was  a  real  trial  to 
break  all  these  ties. 

The  first  Sunday  in  June  we  carried  our  dear  little 
William  Phillips  to  the  baptismal  font,  and  consecrated 
him  in  love  and  faith  to  the  service  of  the  heavenly 
Father.  The  last  Sunday  of  the  same  month  (1844)  I 
preached  my  farewell. 

My  engagement  at  Concord  was  for  one  year  only, 
beginning  with  July.  At  first  we  boarded,  but  soon 
found  a  cottage  on  the  hill  near  Brother  Thomas  where 
we  went  to  keeping  house.  Our  nearness  to  our 
friends  drew  closer  the  ties  of  our  friendship. 

Here  I  found  a  field  of  labor  very  different  from 
Norton.  There  they  were  steady-going  farmers,  of 
small  means,  living  in  a  quiet  way,  with  few  things  to 
disturb  the  monotony  of  daily  toil.  Here  was  a  grow- 
ing city,  full  of  business,  enterprise,  push,  excitement, 
the  hot-bed  of  politics,  the  seething-pot  of  all  sorts  of 
speculations.  I  was  surprised  by  the  liberality  with 


no  Autobiography 

which  young  men,  clerks  and  mechanics,  contributed 
to  the  support  of  the  church,  some  of  them  paying  as 
much  voluntarily  as  the  richest  men  were  taxed  in  my 
Norton  parish. 

They  were  noble  men  and  women,  of  various  opin- 
ions, religious  and  political,  but  kindly,  and  tolerant 
generally  of  opinions  they  did  not  accept.  They  bade 
us  a  cordial  welcome  to  their  homes  and  hearts. 

I  seemed  to  be  in  a  new  world,  alive  with  fresh 
thought,  calling  upon  me  for  the  best  I  could  give 
every  Sunday.  But  the  change  gave  me  more  time  for 
study,  and  I  soon  grew  stronger,  away  from  the  east 
wind,  and  breathing  the  soft  summer  air  coming  from 
the  "dark  plains"  of  pitch  pine  across  the  river. 

On  the  i  Qth  of  March,  1845,  a  new  gift  of  Heaven 
descended  on  our  little  cottage  on  the  hill  in  the  form 
of  another  lovely  boy.  We  hailed  him  with  gratitude 
and  joy.  Willie  was  only  nineteen  months  old  then,  so 
that  we  almost  felt  we  had  twin  boys,  and  indeed  they 
were  often  taken  for  twins  as  they  grew  up  together. 

We  had  formed  so  pleasant  a  friendship  with  the 
Thomases  that  we  thought  we  would  commemorate  it 
by  the  name  of  our  new  child.  Mr.  Thomas's  name 
was  Moses  George,  so,  dropping  the  Moses,  we  called 
our  boy  George  Thomas. 

While  they  remained  in  Concord,  they  were  not  only 
our  nearest  neighbors,  but  our  most  intimate  friends,  in 
full  sympathy  with  the  general  aim  of  my  preach- 
ing. They  left  for  South  Boston  in  October.  The 
night  before  they  went  away  they  spent  with  us. 
Late  in  the  evening  of  October  7  our  baby  George 
awoke.  The  sudden  thought  came  to  us,  Why  not 


Concord  Ministry  ill 

have  him  baptized  now  that  Brother  Thomas  is  with 
us  to  administer  the  rite  ? 

Water  was  brought,  and  there  around  the  social 
hearth,  in  the  enjoyment  of  that  friendship  his  name 
was  given  to  commemorate,  the  sacred  and  beautiful 
rite  was  administered.  It  was  a  sweet  season.  We 
felt  none  of  the  anxious  care  attendant  on  infant  bap- 
tism at  church.  There  were  none  to  comment  on  the 
child's  dress  or  behavior.  Just  as  we  took  him  from 
the  cradle  in  his  little  flannel  night-gown,  we  pre- 
sented him.  In  his  mother's  lap,  that  sweet  resting- 
place  for  the  little  nestling,  he  received  the  pure  drops 
upon  his  brow.  Then,  as  we  sat  together  with  clasped 
hands,  the  fervent  prayer  of  our  brother  went  up  to 
Heaven  for  us  all. 

I  was  engaged  only  for  one  year;  but,  when  the  time 
expired,  they  invited  me  to  continue  and  voted  my 
salary  for  another  year.  The  society  was  harmonious, 
and  I  did  not  permit  my  interest  in  reforms  to  inter- 
fere with  my  earnest  efforts  to  promote  personal  piety. 
We  had  some  very  interesting  cases  of  the  awakening 
of  souls  to  the  higher  life. 

In  the  autumn  of  1845  my  sister  Lucy,  seven  years 
younger  than  I,  who  had  been  married  only  a  little 
more  than  a  year,  died,  leaving  an  infant, —  Helen.  I 
went  to  see  her  just  before  she  left,  and  received  into 
my  heart  the  benediction  of  her  sweet  trusting  spirit. 
She  talked  freely  of  her  leaving ;  said,  "  I  have  more 
than  everything  to  live  for, —  so  good  a  husband,  so 
sweet  an  infant."  She  had,  indeed  ;  but  her  trust  in 
the  Father's  love  was  unfaltering,  and  the  breathing  of 
her  soul  was,  "Not  my  will,  but  thine,  be  done."  She 


112  Autobiography 

had  been  expecting  me,  and  expressed  the  wish  that, 
when  I  came,  the  babe  might  be  baptized.  The  little 
one  was  brought  to  the  bedside  of  its  calm  and  prayer- 
ful mother,  and  there  in  its  father's  arms,  with  a  few 
friends  standing  round,  Helen  received  the  baptismal 
waters  on  her  innocent  brow.  After  the  service  was 
over,  Lucy's  husband  went  to  her  and  said,  "You  feel 
happy  now?"  "Yes,"  she  replied,  "very,  very  happy." 
The  second  day  after  she  was  with  the  angels. 

Lucy — Lucy  Brooks — was  not  only  a  very  lovely 
woman,  but  one  of  rare  gifts.  She  had  a  highly  poeti- 
cal and  deeply  religious  nature.  The  collection  of 
poems  made  by  her  husband  after  her  death,  gleaned 
mainly  from  the  Christian  Register  where  they  were 
first  published,  shows  how  natural  was  her  power  of 
sacred  song.  They  are  nearly  all  of  a  religious  charac- 
ter, breathing  a  sweet  spirit  of  trusting  faith.  She 
was  a  fine  housekeeper,  and  had  the  rare  art  of  think- 
ing her  best  thoughts  at  her  work.  Very  often,  after 
a  morning  at  the  wash-tub,  she  would  hang  out  her 
clothes, —  and  they  were  always  white, — wipe  her  hands, 
take  pencil  and  paper  and  write  out  the  poem  she  had 
composed  over  the  suds.  She  was  as  lovely  in  charac- 
ter as  sweet  in  song,  deeply  interested  in  anti-slavery, 
human  brotherhood,  and  all  the  reforms  of  the  day. 
In  this,  as  in  love  of  home,  she  found  a  congenial 
spirit  in  her  faithful  and  devoted  husband. 

In  1846  I  preached  a  sermon  on  "The  Evangelical 
Alliance,"  then  recently  formed  in  England  for  the 
promotion  of  Christian  union.  Its  limitations  of  fel- 
lowship were  so  inconsistent  with  union,  in  any  true 
Christian  sense,  that  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  expose  its  nar- 


Concord  Ministry  113 

rowness  and  show  a  more  excellent  way.  It  was  "pub- 
lished by  request."  This  was  my  first  published  ser- 
mon. 

Then  the  Mexican  war  clouds  began  to  send  forth 
lightning  and  thunder.  The  annexation  of  Texas  the 
year  before,  had  given  rise  to  various  disputes  with 
Mexico  as  to  boundaries  and  border  regions,  and  in 
April  a  conflict  of  arms  took  place  between  Mexican 
and  United  States  troops  on  the  Rio  Grande.  War 
was  at  once  declared  by  the  President  "As  existing  by 
the  act  of  Mexico."  The  bugle  blast  calling  for  vol- 
unteers was  heard  all  over  the  land.  In  Concord  there 
was  great  excitement.  Not  only  the  peace  men,  but 
the  anti-slavery  men,  regarded  the  war  as  unjust,  and 
waged  in  the  interests  of  slavery. 

I  could  not  be  silent.  One  Sunday,  as  I  was  giving 
my  view  of  the  war,  a  prominent  member,  one  Colonel 

,  rose,  and,  wrapping  "his  martial  cloak  around 

him,"  marched  down  the  aisle  and  out  of  the  church. 
Of  course,  it  made  a  sensation,  and  the  timid  ones 
were  scared. 

The  anniversary  meetings  in  Boston  this  year  gave 
me  new  courage  and  inspiration.  They  were  full  of 
fervor.  George  S.  Hillard  and  William  H.  Channing, 
especially,  spoke  at  the  meeting  of  the  American  Uni- 
tarian Association  with  clarion  tongues  in  behalf  of 
pure  Christianity.  I  returned  from  these  meetings 
with  a  song  of  joy  in  my  heart. 

I  had  told  the  society  at  the  end  of  the  second  year 
that  I  thought  I  had  better  go  away,  as  some  were  leav- 
ing the  church,  but  they  would  not  hear  to  it,  and  voted 
my  salary  for  another  year. 


1 14  Autobiography 

But  the  Mexican  war  furor  deepened  the  excitement 
and  intensified  the  feelings  on  both  sides.  The  news- 
papers were  ablaze  with  it.  My  ultra-peace  principles 
made  me,  not  a  "  target "  merely,  but  a  live  pigeon  or 
"  goose  "  for  them  to  shoot  at. 

There  was  a  great  military  convention  held  in  Con- 
cord early  in  June,  to  enkindle  patriotic  zeal  and  enlist 
recruits  for  the  war.  Several  Independent  Companies 
came  from  a  distance,  in  full  uniform, —  one  from  Ver- 
mont. The  old  North  Church  was  crowded  to  overflow- 
ing, and  flaming  speeches  were  made  in  behalf  of  the 
war  and  in  eulogy  of  the  military.  A  prominent  law- 
yer of  the  place,  a  pro-slavery  democrat,  Mr.  Franklin 
Pierce,  was  the  presiding  genius  of  the  occasion. 

I  was  present  to  hear  what  was  said,  with  many  other 
anti-slavery  and  anti-war  friends.  Mr.  Pierce,  in  the 
course  of  his  speech,  said,  looking  directly  at  me  and 
shaking  his  finger  as  he  spoke,  that  he  saw  some  pres- 
ent who  sought  to  bring  the  military  into  contempt. 
He  then  went  on  in  mingled  sarcasm  and  scorn  of  those 
who  opposed  the  war  on  principles  of  peace.  There  was 
great  applause  and  excitement.  I  was  near  the  front ; 
and,  as  he  closed,  I  pressed  through  the  crowd,  and, 
stepping  to  the  platform,  asked  the  privilege  of  a  word. 
When  I  began,  I  was  hailed  with  hisses,  but  after  a  few 
words  they  were  still  and  attentive.  I  never  knew  just 
what  I  said.  I  was  too  excited  to  remember.  I  only 
know  that  I  attempted  to  show  how  inconsistent  this 
war  spirit  they  had  been  lauding  was  with  the  genius 
and  spirit  of  Christianity.  I  believe  my  word  was  not 
in  vain.  It  gave  them  something  to  think  of  besides 
fighting  to  enlarge  our  slave  territory.  Soon  as  I  closed, 


Concord  Ministry  115 

the  large  concourse  of  people  dispersed  quietly,  with  no 
hisses  or  groans  for  the  peace  minister. 

On  the  two  following  days  the  friends  of  peace  held 
meetings,  and  noble  and  truthful  words  were  spoken  for 
"peace  on  earth  and  good  will  to  men."  Adin  Ballou 
and  Samuel  E.  Coues  were  present  from  abroad,  and 
added  much  to  the  interest  of  the  meetings.  Brother 
Ballou  stayed  over  Sunday  with  me,  and  preached 
gloriously  all  day  of  the  real  kingdom  of  God. 

The  next  month  Brother  and  Sister  Thomas  came  up 
from  South  Boston,  where  he  was  then  settled;  and, 
taking  a  four-seated  carriage  with  a  span  of  horses,  we 
went  together,  himself  and  wife,  myself  and  wife,  to  the 
White  Mountains.  We  were  gone  about  two  weeks, 
leaving  the  children  in  good  hands,  and  had  a  most  de- 
lightful journey.  Brother  Thomas  was  a  dear  lover  of 
the  mountains,  knew  them  by  heart.  We  could  not 
have  had  a  better  guide  or  more  charming  companions. 

We  spent  many  vacations  among  the  mountains  af- 
terwards, but  the  first  view  of  their  grandeur  and  sub- 
limity has  never  been  surpassed,  hardly  equalled.  No 
scream  of  the  steam  whistle  had  then  been  heard  among 
these  fastnesses  of  nature.  We  ascended  Mt.  Wash- 
ington on  horseback,  by  a  bridle-path  from  Old  Craw- 
ford's, going  over  all  the  interesting  mountains  in  the 
long  range  from  Webster  to  the  summit  of  Wash- 
ington. We  went  with  a  company  of  travellers  :  Theo- 
dore Parker  and  wife  were  of  the  number.  We  spent 
Sunday  at  Crawford's,  and  Mr.  Parker  preached  an  ex- 
cellent sermon.  Brother  Thomas  offered  prayer,  and 
Mary  and  I  led  the  cJioir.  The  music  was  not  artistic, 
but  well  meant.  As  we  were  not  paid  save  in  intrinsic 


n  6  A  utobiograpliy 

satisfaction,  and  that  could  be  expressed  by  the  small- 
est known  coin,  we  were  not  criticised. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year  a  young  man,  Lieutenant 
Edward  Eastman,  who  once  belonged  to  our  society,  but 
left  some  years  before  for  the  West,  enlisted  as  a  vol- 
unteer in  the  Mexican  War,  and  died  at  Camargo,  taking 
care  of  the  sick  soldiers.  His  brother  in  Concord 
wished  me  to  preach  a  sermon  on  the  occasion,  which  I 
did, —  a  thorough  peace  sermon  in  commemoration  of  a 
soldier !  To  my  great  surprise,  the  friends  wished  to 
publish  it.  This  was  my  second  published  sermon. 

During  the  latter  part  of  1846,  the  Mexican  war  fever 
was  at  its  height.  I  was  often  attacked  in  the  papers. 
Party  feeling  ran  high,  and  disaffection  increased.  Some 
left  and  others  were  frightened  lest  the  society  should 
be  broken  up.  To  brace  up  the  courage  of  the  society 
and  make  clear  my  own  conviction,  I  preached  "  A  New 
Year's  Sermon,"  January,  1847,  from  a  text  in  Paul's 
letter  to  the  Philippians :  "  Stand  fast,  in  nothing 
terrified  by  your  adversaries."  As  I  was  preparing  this 
sermon,  one  of  my  right-hand  supporters  called.  I  told 
him  what  I  was  doing,  and  read  extracts  from  what  I 
had  written.  He,  too,  was  afraid,  and  thought  I  had 
better  not  preach  it.  But  I  had  made  up  my  mind,  and 
gave  it. 

If  you  will  read  that  sermon,  you  will  get  a  better  idea 
than  I  can  give  you  of  the  nature  of  the  opposition  and 
the  way  I  endeavored  to  make  plain  what  seemed  to  me 
my  Christian  position. 

To  my  surprise,  this  sermon  was  so  well  received  by 
a  large  majority  of  those  who  heard  it  that  they  re- 
quested that  it  might  be  "Printed  for  the  Use  of  the  So- 
ciety." This  was  my  third  printed  sermon. 


Concord  Ministry  1 1 7 

Still,  the  opposition  was  so  strong  that,  taking  all 
things  into  consideration,  I  thought  it  would  be  better 
not  to  remain  another  year.  I  had  been  the  first  to 
break  the  ice  in  preaching  against  war  and  slavery,  and 
I  thought  that  a  new  man  might  come  and  preach  the 
same  truth  with  less  opposition.  Those  who  had  com- 
mitted themselves  against  me  might  listen  to  another 
complacently,  even  though  he  held  the  same  views. 
Still,  I  concluded  not  to  resign  till  the  annual  meeting 
should  decide  whether  the  majority  wished  me  to  stay. 
The  meeting  was  fully  attended.  There  was  free  talk, 
as  I  learned,  for  and  against  my  remaining,  but  no  vote 
was  taken. 

At  the  adjourned  meeting  it  was  voted  —  17  to  9,  sev- 
eral not  voting  —  that  I  should  be  invited  to  remain  an- 
other year,  provided  my  usual  salary  could  be  raised. 
By  this  time  some  of  my  friends,  seeing  the  strength  of 
the  opposition  and  fearing  the  result,  concluded  it 
would  be  unwise  for  me  to  continue  longer  than  the  ex- 
piration of  my  third  year,  and  the  salary  was  not  raised. 
This  relieved  me  from  the  necessity  of  resigning. 
Cordially  agreeing  with  them  in  their  decision,  I  told 
them  I  thought  it  would  be  wiser  not  to  serve  out  the 
year,  but  leave  at  once,  as  they  would  wish  to  be  hear- 
ing candidates  and  I  should  wish  to  be  looking  for 
some  other  field  of  labor. 

So  on  the  9th  of  May  —  my  birthday  —  I  preached 
my  farewell.  I  left  without  regret,  as  they  did  not 
think  it  prudent  to  keep  me  longer,  but  with  no  ill 
will,  and  for  the  over  forty  years  that  have  inter- 
vened since  then  I  have  nowhere  found  a  more  cordial 
welcome,  whether  in  their  pulpit  or  their  homes,  than 
among  this  charming  people. 


1 1 8  A  utobiography 

My  successor  proved,  as  I  had  hoped,  a  stanch  anti- 
slavery  man  ;  and,  when  the  vote  for  his  settlement  was 
pending,  I  was  told  that  the  very  colonel  who  walked 
out  of  church  when  I  was  preaching  on  the  Mexican 
War  said  that,  as  they  had  got  to  have  ad  —  d  aboli- 
tionist or  a  d  —  d  fool,  he  should  vote  for  him. 

Still  making  my  home  in  Concord,  I  was  for  the  first 
time  without  a  parish,  and  went  forth  to  find  a  field  of 
labor  where  I  could  be  free  and  yet  wanted. 

I  preached  at  Woburn,  Wayland,  and  Ware,  finding 
pleasant  people  and  a  kindly  hearing  everywhere. 

The  anniversary  meetings  of  this  year  were  very 
quickening.  The  League  of  Brotherhood,  then  re- 
cently organized,  whose  vignette  was  a  white  hand 
clasping  a  black  one,  was  particularly  inspiring.  Elihu 
Burritt,  the  learned  blacksmith,  was  deeply  interested 
in  this  movement,  and  labored  earnestly  in  England  to 
advance  its  principles.  The  signers  of  its  pledge 
against  all  war  and  the  manifestation  of  the  war  spirit 
already,  on  both  sides  the  Atlantic,  were  near  thirty 
thousand.  Hopes  for  permanent  peace  on  earth  were 
so  bright  we  could  almost  hear  the  angels  sing  again 
the  advent  song. 

While  I  was  wandering,  I  preached  two  Sundays  in 
Brooklyn,  Conn.,  where  Mr.  May  began  his  ministry, 
and  had  a  delightful  time  with  his  old  people,  still  full 
of  love  for  their  never-to-be-forgotten  minister ;  also, 
I  preached  one  Sunday  in  Lowell. 

In  August  Mary  and  I  visited  Norton,  and  spent  a 
charming  Sunday  with  our  dear  old  friends  there.  The 
reunion  after  three  years'  separation  was  a  spiritual 
refreshment. 


Concord  Ministry  119 

A  little  later  I  received  an  invitation  to  supply  the 
pulpit  in  Dover,  N.H.,  for  one  year,  during  the  absence 
of  its  minister,  Rev.  John  Parkman,  in  Europe.  Though 
the  society  in  Wayland  wished  me  to  remain  with  them 
as  their  pastor,  I  thought  it  best  to  go  to  Dover  for 
one  year,  as  it  would  give  me  rest  and  time  for  study. 

Just  before  leaving  Concord,  some  of  our  dear  friends 
there  paid  us  a  brief  visit,  leaving  us  a  gift  of  silver  for 
the  table,  which  we  are  still  enjoying. 

On  Tuesday  morning,  August  31,  having  put  our 
household  goods  on  board  the  cars,  we  started  by  rail 
for  Dover.  On  the  way  we  heard  of  an  alarming  epi- 
demic among  the  children  of  that  town.  We  had  with 
us  three  as  precious  ones  as  any  beneath  the  stars,  but 
we  could  not  turn  back.  "  Remember  Lot's  wife."  We 
went  on,  and,  although  many  children  were  sick,  our 
dear  ones  were  spared.  We  spent  the  first  night  at  the 
American  House,  and  the  next  day  moved  into  "our 
own  hired  house,"  as  Paul  did,  and  I  began  my  year's 
work. 

My  stay  at  Dover  was  one  of  the  white  years  of  my 
ministry.  Knowing  that  I  could  remain  only  a  year,  I 
felt  at  liberty  to  select  my  best  sermons,  and  write  only 
when  I  felt  like  it,  giving  the  remainder  of  the  time  to 
rest  and  study.  The  people  were  very  kind,  even  cor- 
dial. 

There  was  a  strong  anti-slavery  feeling  in  the  soci- 
ety, and  my  best  words  on  the  reforms  of  the  day  were 
welcome.  Here  I  became  acquainted  with  Hon.  John 
P.  Hale,  the  stanch  anti-slavery  man.  He  was  then  a 
Senator  in  the  National  Congress,  where  his  voice  for 
freedom  gave  no  uncertain  sound.  He  was  a  member 


1 20  A  utobiography 

of  the  Unitarian  church,  and  on  his  home  vacations 
was  most  constant  in  his  attendance  on  public  worship, 
and  took  a  class  in  Sunday-school.  I  honored  and 
loved  him  as  a  true  and  noble  man. 

While  at  Dover,  I  gave  a  lecture  on  Peace,  at  the 
town  hall,  which  was  published.  We  formed  many 
sweet  friendships  here,  and  look  back  upon  the  "white 
year"  with  unalloyed  satisfaction.  It  was  while  here 
that  Will  went  into  jacket  and  pants.  His  little  plump 
form  looked  so  portly  in  tights,  and  he  strutted  round 
with  such  an  air  that  one  of  my  neighbors  used  to  call 
him  "  Major  Bagstock." 

In  May,  1848,  my  youngest  sister,  Caroline,  only  two 
and  a  half  years  after  Lucy  left  us,  was  called  up 
higher.  She  was  not  only  the  youngest,  and  so  the 
pet,  but  the  flower  of  our  family.  She  and  Lucy  were 
brought  up  together  from  their  cradles,  and  were  every- 
thing to  their  mother  while  she  stayed,  and  to  their 
father  when  she  went.  They  lived  in  each  other's  love. 
Yet  they  were  quite  unlike.  Caroline  had  none  of 
Lucy's  poetic  gifts.  I  don't  know  as  she  ever  at- 
tempted a  rhyme  in  her  life.  Yet  she  was  full  of 
poetic  sentiment.  Her  nature  was  as  sensitive  to  her 
surroundings  as  an  vEolian  harp  to  the  breeze.  She 
was  a  born  teacher;  and  the  fine  education  she  re- 
ceived at  the  Normal  School  developed  those  natural 
gifts,  and  fitted  her  in  a  remarkable  degree  for  her  life- 
work.  She  had  already  won  success  in  teaching,  when 
Mr.  May,  who  was  largely  instrumental  in  raising  the 
means  for  her  education,  took  her  with  him  to  the  Lex- 
ington Normal  School,  and  put  her  in  charge  of  the 
mathematical  department.  Here  her  real  genius  for 


Concord  Ministry  121 

teaching  was  shown.  Here  she  won  her  laurels,  and 
hosts  of  friends  among  her  pupils,  who  have  never  for- 
gotten her,  but  still  "  rise  up  to  call  her  blessed." 

I  have  often  met  with  entire  strangers  who,  on  learn- 
ing that  I  was  her  brother,  have  greeted  me  with  hearty 
cordiality,  and  told  me  with  faces  full  of  deep  feeling 
how  dear  she  was  to  them,  and  what  an  inspiration  she 
had  been  in  their  studies. 

Governor  Briggs,  who  was  present  at  a  Teachers' 
Institute  when  she  gave  a  series  of  lectures  on  mathe- 
matics, remarked  that  she  had  the  most  brilliant  mind 
he  ever  saw.  Horace  Mann,  visiting  the  school  and 
listening  to  one  of  her  recitations,  said  he  had  never 
anywhere  in  the  Old  World  witnessed  anything  supe- 
rior to  it.  She  gave  her  whole  soul  to  her  work.  She 
was  a  devotee.  She  lived  for  it,  she  died  for  it.  Her 
frail  body,  always  frail  from  a  child,  was  not  strong 
enough  to  bear  the  high  pressure  of  her  intensely  ac- 
tive brain.  She  was  obliged  to  give  up  her  school  two 
years  before  she  died,  but  the  Board  of  Education, 
unwilling  she  should  resign,  continued  her  salary,  hop- 
ing that  entire  freedom  from  care  might  give  her 
strength  to  resume.  But  she  had  labored  too  long. 
Her  overtaxed  powers  were  not  restored  by  rest.  She 
even  failed  more  rapidly  now  that  the  excitement  of 
teaching  was  over,  and  after  a  lingering  illness,  sweetly 
borne,  rose  out  of  the  body,  worn  out  at  twenty-seven, 
into  other  mansions  of  our  Father's  house. 


XII. 
WALPOLE   MINISTRY. 

1848-1855. 

LEAVING    DOVER. —  SETTLEMENT   AT    WALPOLE. —  DEATH    OF 
MRS.  BOND. —  DR.  BELLOWS. —  FAREWELL  TO  WALPOLE. 

IN  leaving  Dover,  as  we  did  in  the  early  summer 
of  1848,  we  were  cheered  in  knowing  that  we  left  many 
friends.  Pleasant  tokens  of  good  will  from  the  society 
and  the  Sunday-school  made  our  hearts  glad  for  the 
year  we  had  been  permitted  to  be  with  them.  Brother 
Parkman  having  safely  returned  with  his  family,  there 
was  no  need  of  our  remaining  longer ;  and  I  gave  my 
farewell  sermon  June  4,  and  was  again  afloat. 

Leaving  my  family  at  Dover,  I  preached  at  several 
places, —  Wayland,  where  the  people  were  anxious  I 
should  continue  with  them  ;  New  Bedford,  to  a  new 
society ;  New  North,  Boston  ;  and  Framingham,  Mass. 
Here  the  committee  wished  to  engage  me  further ;  but 
I  had  promised  to  preach  at  Walpole,  N.H.,  where, 
after  three  Sundays,  I  received  a  unanimous  invitation 
to  settle. 

It  was  during  this  season  of  transient  preaching  that 
I  received  a  most  kindly  and  persuasive  invitation 
from  my  old  parishioners  in  Norton  to  return  to  them 
as  their  pastor.  They  offered  me  a  higher  salary  than 
before,  and  accompanied  the  offer  with  expressions  of 


Walpole  Ministry  123 

earnest  hope  that  I  might  accede  to  the  wishes  of  the 
society.  My  old  affection  for  this  church  of  my  first 
love  drew  me  strongly ;  but  Mary  and  I  both  thought 
that,  taking  all  things  into  consideration,  we  had  better 
decline  the  kind  proposal,  generous  as  it  was. 

In  accepting  the  call  to  Walpole  rather  than  any 
other  near  the  coast,  we  were  influenced  largely  by  the 
hope  that  the  inland  air  would  be  more  favorable  to  my 
health,  which  proved  to  be  true. 

In  September  we  left  with  all  our  goods  for  Walpole. 
We  spent  two  nights  with  our  dear  friends  at  Charles- 
town  on  the  way,  where  we  always  found  a  cordial  wel- 
come. 

On  our  arrival  at  Walpole  we  went  directly  to  the 
hospitable  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  T.  G.  Wells,  where 
we  were  made  welcome  for  three  weeks,  till  we  were 
ready  for  housekeeping.  Mrs.  Wells  was  a  niece  of 
my  dear  Mr.  May.  I  had  made  her  acquaintance  on 
my  first  visit.  She  was  a  member  of  the  Church  of 
the  Disciples  in  Boston,  whose  pastor,  James  Free- 
man Clarke,  was  my  favorite  minister.  Her  pleasant 
acquaintance  had  its  influence  in  my  acceptance  of 
Walpole. 

I  was  installed  as  pastor  of  the  church  Sept.  27,  1848, 
Rev.  A.  A.  Livermore,  of  Keene,  preaching  the  sermon. 

Here  we  spent  nearly  seven  very  happy  years.  The 
situation  of  the  town  on  a  beautiful  terrace  overlooking 
the  Connecticut  River,  and  commanding  a  fine  view  of 
the  mountains  of  Vermont,  was  delightful.  The  air  was 
sweet  and  pure  in  summer ;  and  even  in  winter  the 
steady  cold,  giving  us  six  months'  constant  sleighing,  was 
more  healthy  and  enjoyable  than  the  broken  winters  of 


124  Autobiography 

the  coast.  We  were  seldom  visited  by  high  winds  ;  and 
when  the  thermometer  fell,  as  it  sometimes  did,  to  thirty 
or  forty  degrees  below  zero,  it  did  not  seem  so  cold  as  it 
did  in  a  high  wind  on  the  coast  at  ten  degrees  above.  In 
this  pure,  bracing  atmosphere,  free  from  the  east  winds, 
which  had  always  been  my  bane,  I  began  slowly,  but 
steadily,  to  improve  in  health.  The  people  were  kind 
and  social,  the  pretty  little  church  was  well  filled  with 
interested  worshippers,  our  children  were  growing  up 
as  "  olive  plants  around  our  table,"  and  the  years  swept 
on  with  much  general  sunshine  and  few  clouds.  There 
seemed  little  call  in  this  quiet,  retired  parish  for  the 
kind  of  preaching  which  the  time  and  the  place  de- 
manded in  Concord.  So  my  preaching  was  mainly  on 
personal  religion  and  the  need  of  a  divine  life  to  each 
individual  soul.  A  number  joined  the  church  during 
these  years,  and  among  the  young  people  our  own  dear 
Laura.  That  was  a  happy  day  to  us. 

I  was  early  chosen  to  serve  the  town  as  school  com- 
mittee, and  continued  in  that  service  while  I  remained. 
This  made  me  acquainted  with  the  children,  and 
opened  to  me  a  wide  field  for  sowing  such  seed  as  I 
chanced  to  have  in  my  bin. 

One  difficulty  was  to  find  a  suitable  house  to  live  in. 
We  had  occupied  three  different  ones,  when  the  society 
decided  to  build  a  parsonage  on  a  lot  adjoining  the 
church,  which  they  owned.  There  was  not  only  a  home, 
but  a  parish  rejoicing  when  we  moved  into  it,  and  the 
jubilee  gatherings  we  received  from  parents  and  chil- 
dren testified  to  the  joy  all  felt  in  having,  at  last,  a 
home  for  their  pastor  and  his  family. 

It   was  while   we  were    at  Walpole   that  my  eldest 


Walpole  Ministry  12$ 

sister,  Philenda, —  Mrs.  Bond, —  died  at  Waltham,  where 
she  had  lived,  wife  and  widow,  twenty-nine  years. 
After  her  husband  died,  she  took  charge  of  his  drug- 
store, and  supported  her  family  from  it  as  long  as  she 
lived.  She  was  fifty-one  when  called  away,  honored 
and  beloved.  She  was  a  ministering  angel  to  dear 
Caroline  in  her  last  sickness.  She  had  three  children, 
Philenda,  Sarah,  and  Josephine.  Only  Josephine  now 
remains. 

There  was  a  beautiful  and  touching  coincidence,  as 
we  stood  near  sister's  open  grave,  that  seemed  like  a 
voice  from  heaven  to  our  hearts.  There  had  been  a 
slight  shower  as  the  procession  passed  into  the  ceme- 
tery, and  just  as  the  open  casket  stood  waiting  for  its 
last  resting-place  there  appeared  in  the  east  a  brilliant 
rainbow,  looking  with  its  divine  message  of  hope  upon 
her  calm  face.  The  place,  the  circumstances,  gave  it 
almost  articulate  voice.  The  orphan  children,  as  they 
looked  up  from  their  dear  mother's  face,  saw  it  through 
their  tears.  Four  out  of  our  sacred  seven  had  now 
risen  to  the  other  mansion.  Only  three  of  us  remained. 

At  the  annual  parish  meeting  in  1854  a  good,  hope- 
ful, and  generous  spirit  prevailed.  The  pews  rented 
for  more  than  usual,  and  they  raised  my  salary  to  $700. 
This  was  most  welcome,  as  I  did  not  meet  my  expenses 
the  year  before  by  more  than  a  hundred  dollars. 

It  was  here  in  Walpole  I  first  met  Dr.  Bellows  and 
listened  to  his  eloquent  preaching.  Here,  in  his  ances- 
tral home,  he  had  a  summer  residence  where  he  spent 
his  vacation.  He  kindly  offered  to  preach  for  me  occa- 
sionally. It  was  a  great  treat  to  me  and  to  the  people. 
The  only  drawback  was  the  contrast  between  his  ser- 


126  Autobiography 

vice  and  mine.  When  he  gave  one  of  his  magnificent 
sermons  in  the  morning,  and  I  had  to  follow  him  in  the 
afternoon,  it  required  an  amount  of  grace  such  as  sel- 
dom comes  to  ordinary  mortals.  But  I  stood  it  for  the 
love  I  bore  him,  for  he  was  a  very  lovable  man.  Here 
began  a  friendship  with  him,  and  a  delightful  corre- 
spondence, which  continued  till  his  death.  He  was  a 
rare  man.  We  had  no  one,  when  he  rose,  to  fill  his 
place  either  in  the  pulpit  or  in  social  life. 

Could  I  have  lived  on  beautiful  scenery  and  pleasant 
surroundings,  I  might  have  been  content ;  but  with 
a  growing  family,  and  salary  barely  sufficient  to  make 
two  ends  meet,  I  began  to  feel,  during  my  seventh  year, 
that  I  must  change. 

In  February,  1855, 1  preached  two  Sundays  in  Jersey 
City,  N.Y.  But  the  society  had  already  decided  to 
give  a  call  to  Rev.  O.  B.  Frothingham,  of  Salem.  In 
March  I  preached  two  Sundays  in  Portland.  Rev. 
Alfred  P.  Putnam  had  also  been  there  as  candidate.  At 
the  parish  meeting  held  after  my  service  the  votes  for 
each  of  us  were  so  near  a  tie  it  was  decided,  and  no 
doubt  wisely,  to  drop  us  both. 

In  April  I  preached  two  Sundays  in  Fitchburg. 
Directly  after,  I  preached  one  Sunday  in  Haverhill,  and 
at  the  close  of  the  sermon  received  a  most  cordial  and 
unanimous  call  from  the  parish  to  become  its  minister. 

While  considering  this,  I  received  one  from  Fitch- 
burg.  It  was  not  so  unanimous  or  cordial  as  the  one 
from  Haverhill,  though  I  was  told  that  only  one  voted 
against  me.  But  the  society  was  much  larger,  they 
offered  more  salary,  I  liked  the  location  better,  it  being 
more  sheltered  from  the  east  wind,  and,  having  a  com- 


Walpole  Ministry  127 

fortable  hope  that   the  missing  cordiality  would  come 
with  acquaintance,  I  accepted. 

Then  came  the  trial  of  leaving  Walpole,  and  it  was  a 
trial  indeed.  Never  did  the  dear  old  parsonage  home 
which  I  had  planned,  superintended  in  building,  watched 
over  and  cared  for,  the  trees  I  had  planted,  the  grounds 
I  had  graded  and  beautified  —  never  did  it  all  seem  so 
beautiful  as  when  I  felt  that  I  must  leave  it  forever. 
And  friends,  too,  grew  nearer  and  dearer  as  the  time 
drew  nigh  that  I  must  bid  them  farewell. 


XIII. 
FITCHBURG   MINISTRY. 

1855-1862. 

SETTLEMENT  AT  FITCHBURG. —  DEATH  OF  LUTHER  TILDEN. — 
CALL  TO  JERSEY  CITY. —  PURCHASE  OF  A  COTTAGE. — CIN- 
CINNATI, SARATOGA,  NIAGARA,  FORT  SUMTER. — MENTAL 
CONFLICT. — JAMES  S.  GREENE. — END  OF  FITCHBURG  MIN- 
ISTRY. 

SUNDAY,  June  3,  1855,  I  was  inducted  to  my  Fitch- 
burg  ministry,  Dr.  Bellows  preaching  the  sermon. 
The  next  morning  I  had  a  delightful  walk  and  talk  with 
him,  which  cheered  and  strengthened  me. 

Fitchburg  I  found  an  industrious,  wide-awake  place, 
with  large  manufacturing  interests,  several  newspapers, 
and  churches  enough  to  meet  the  wants  of  a  wide 
diversity  of  religious  beliefs.  It  was  a  very  different 
place  from  Walpole.  There  were  rural  peace  and  quiet, 
here  the  clatter  of  machinery  and  the  push  of  enter- 
prise. The  new  conditions  called  for  a  new  ministra- 
tion of  Christian  truth.  It  was  more  like  Concord, 
N.  H.  National  affairs  came  again  into  prominence, 
and  I  felt  obliged  to  run  up  the  flag  of  liberty,  temper- 
ance, peace,  and  brotherhood.  The  response  was  not 
altogether  harmonious,  but  the  general  tone  of  feeling 
was  kindly.  As  we  became  acquainted  with  the  peo- 
ple, we  found  in  them  much  to  respect  and  honor.  Soon 


Fitchburg  Ministry  129 

we  began  to  feel  at  home,  and  to  enjoy  the  new  field  of 
labor.  Here  again  I  became  a  member  of  the  school 
committee,  and  continued  in  the  service  I  always  loved 
as  long  as  I  remained  in  Fitchburg.  I  gave  lyceum 
temperance  and  peace  lectures  outside  my  regular 
work,  and  inside  tried  as  I  best  could  to  build  up  the 
inward  kingdom  in  the  hearts  of  my  people.  The 
First  Parish  was  large,  covering  a  wide  territory. 
Visiting  my  scattered  parishioners  and  the  schools  kept 
me  busy.  I  lived  on  good  terms  with  the  other  minis- 
ters of  the  place,  exchanged  with  the  Universalist, 
Methodist,  and  Trinitarian,  or  "Black  Orthodox,"  as  the 
last  was  called,  on  account  of  the  strong  and  earnest 
anti-slavery  position  taken  by  the  society.  The  Rev. 
Elnathan  Davis,  pastor  of  this  church,  was  my  true  and 
intimate  friend,  as  was  Rev.  Kendall  Brooks,  pastor  of 
the  Baptist  church,  with  whom  I  was  associated  on  the 
school  committee.  His  house  was  on  my  way  to  the 
post-office,  and  I  often  ran  in  to  his  study  to  see  what 
kind  of  a  sermon  he  was  writing,  and  compare  notes. 
Our  fellowship  was  delightful. 

I  adopted  one  new  custom  at  Fitchburg  which  proved 
very  successful.  It  was  giving  an  occasional  sermon 
to  the  Sunday-school,  letting  it  take  the  place  of  the 
afternoon  service.  The  school  occupied  the  body  pews, 
and  the  members  of  the  congregation  sat  where  they 
could.  These  addresses  were  given  without  notes, — 
plain  talks  with  the  children, —  and  proved  as  interest- 
ing to  the  old  as  the  young.* 

*  No  mention  is  made  in  this  Autobiography  of  a  small  book  entitled  "  Buds  for  the 
Bridal  Wreath,"  which  he  published  in  1856.  It  contained  wise  and  loving  advice  to 
those  just  entered  on  the  holy  estate  of  marriage. 

In  a  letter  to  his  friend  Mr.  May  at  this  time,  he  says :  "  It  has  at  least  one  virtue  :  it 


130  A  u  tobiography 

March  6,  1857,  my  father  died  at  South  Scituate. 
He  was  eighty  years  old  the  January  before.  He  was 
a  good  father,  a  kind  husband,  a  dear  lover  of  his  home. 
He  was  industrious  and  hard-working,  but  never  fore- 
handed, though  always  generous  beyond  his  means.  In 
early  life  he  and  his  brother  Jotham  were  partners  in 
ship-building  at  the  Block  House.  After  they  dis- 
solved, he  took  contracts  in  Medford  and  Braintree 
and  other  places  ;  but,  save  a  short  residence  in  Boston 
when  he  was  first  married,  he  made  his  home  in  Scitu- 
ate, within  a  few  miles  of  the  place  where  he  was  born. 

Dear,  precious  father,  peace  to  thy  risen  spirit ! 

I  think  I  never  quite  fitted  the  Fitchburg  parish. 
There  was  more  or  less  friction,  mainly  on  account  of 
my  anti-slavery  views.  Threatening  clouds  began  to 
loom  up  in  our  political  sky,  and  I  had  to  speak  again 
and  again.  The  majority  was  with  me,  but  a  few 
prominent  members  were  greatly  disturbed.  Finally, 
in  the  fourth  year  of  my  ministry,  I  thought  I  would 
leave  the  first  good  opportunity. 

Mr.  Frothingham  having  left  the  young  society  at 
Jersey  City,  where  I  preached  about  the  time  he  was 
settled,  I  was  invited  to  supply  the  pulpit  two  Sundays 
in  January,  1860.  They  at  once  gave  me  a  unanimous 
call  at  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year. 

The  next  month  I  took  Mary  with  me  to  Jersey  City, 
and  preached  two  Sundays.  The  people  were  so  kind 

is  small.  It  has  also  one  other:  it  omits  the  wise  counsels  upon  the  vast  importance  of 
making  a  right  choice,  which  is  common  to  such  books.  It  seems  to  me  rather  late  in 
the  day  to  talk  to  those  already  married  of  the  importance  of  choosing  wisely ;  and  yet 
how  often  this  is  done  I 

"  You  see  I  have  not  given  a  separate  chapter  to  religion,  because  I  have  wished  to 
infuse  the  religious  spirit  into  every  chapter,  and  thus  show  that  piety  belongs,  not  to  a 
single  chapter  of  human  life  alone,  but  to  every  paragraph,  line,  and  word  of  life's 
sacred  volume." 


Fitchburg  Ministry  131 

and  cordial  and  really  anxious  for  us  to  come  that  we 
decided  in  the  affirmative.  When  we  returned,  I  sent 
in  my  resignation.  To  my  surprise,  they  voted  not  to 
accept  it,  fifty-four  to  nine.  A  committee  waited  upon 
me  to  report  the  vote,  and  see  if  they  could  not  prevail 
upon  me  to  remain.  But  I  had  gone  so  far  I  thought  I 
had  better  not  recall  my  resignation,  and  sent  them  a 
letter  to  that  effect.  Many  were  greatly  disappointed. 
I  was  told  that  one  man,  when  the  note  was  read;  laid 
his  face  in  his  hands  and  burst  into  tears.  The  meet- 
ing adjourned  without  taking  any  action  on  the  letter. 
Soon  after  friends  came  to  me,  saying  they  would  can- 
vass the  parish  and  get  the  express  wish  of  every  legal 
voter.  The  result  was  one  hundred  and  seven  wished 
me  to  remain,  eight  would  like  to  have  me  go,  and  some 
five  or  six  chose  not  to  express  an  opinion  on  paper, 
though  some  of  these  wished  me  to  stay. 

I  yielded  to  the  wishes  of  this  large  majority  and 
the  earnest  personal  entreaty  of  individual  friends,  and 
consented  to  remain. 

It  was  a  great  disappointment  to  the  little  church 
at  Jersey  City  and  to  Mary,  who  thought  it  wiser  to  go. 
We  had  formed  delightful  acquaintances  there,  espe- 
cially with  the  Armstrong  family,  to  whom  we  had  be- 
come much  attached.  On  the  day  I  had  intended  to 
give  my  farewell  I  preached  instead  my  inaugural  of 
the  new  dispensation. 

After  deciding  to  remain,  we  moved  from  the  house 
we  had  lived  in  for  nearly  five  years  to  a  cottage  on 
the  hill,  which  I  bought. 

It  was  delightful  to  have  a  home  of  our  own.  We 
had  a  large  garden,  good  light  soil,  and  many  young 


132  A  ntobiography 

fruit-trees  in  the  prime  of  bearing.  It  was  a  little 
paradise,  till  the  glittering  sword  of  a  destiny  always 
loving  drew  us  out  into  broader,  if  not  greener,  past- 
ures. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  1860,  I  was  invited  to 
preach  four  Sundays  at  Cincinnati,  Ohio.  One  of  my 
Walpole  parishioners,  Mr.  William  Bellows,  had  gone 
there  to  reside ;  and,  as  one  of  the  Unitarian  churches 
was  without  a  pastor,  he  was  anxious  to  have  me  come 
for  a  few  Sundays.  I  had  never  been  West,  and  was 
glad  to  go.  I  went  alone.  It  seemed  best  for  very 
obvious  reasons,  but  it  was  a  great  drawback  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  trip.  I  had  never  been  to  Saratoga  or 
Niagara,  and  so  arranged  to  take  them  on  the  way. 
Spent  the  first  night  at  Saratoga,  drank  of  its  medi- 
cinal waters,  and  ate  for  supper  the  famous  Saratoga 
biscuits,  made  light  as  a  clear  conscience  with  water 
only  for  yeast. 

The  next  night  I  was  at  Niagara.  The  Falls  filled 
me  with  wonder  and  awe.  It  takes  time  to  get  ad- 
justed to  them.  How  I  did  long  for  Mary  and  the 
children  to  share  the  grandeur  with  me !  It  was  too 
much  for  one.  I  could  only  drink  a  drop  of  the  cease- 
less pouring,  resistless  flood.  Oh,  I  thought,  if  the  sick 
ones  of  my  parish  could  but  look  upon  the  sight,  it 
would  give  them  strength  to  bear  pain  or  die,  as  the 
Father  of  this  infinite  majesty  might  choose. 

Over  an  evergreen  arch,  thirty  or  forty  feet  high, 
near  Table  Rock,  was  an  inscription,  "  Welcome  to 
nature's  grandest  sight."  It  was  designed  to  welcome 
the  Prince  of  Wales  on  his  then  recent  visit.  That 
was  well ;  but  every  soul  God  has  made  capable  of 


Fitchbnrg  Ministry  133 

enjoying  this  grandeur  is  a  prince,  and  to  him  also  the 
invisible  Spirit  of  the  ceaseless  wonder  says,  "  Wel- 
come to  nature's  grandest  view!" 

Going  on  by  the  way  of  Buffalo,  Cleveland,  and 
Columbus,  I  arrived  at  Cincinnati  Saturday,  October 
27,  and  went  directly  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Kepler,  where 
I  was  to  make  my  home ;  and  it  was  a  home,  made 
pleasant  to  me  by  generous  hospitality.  I  soon  met 
my  friends  from  Walpole,  N.H.,  whose  familiar  faces 
and  cordial  greetings  swept  away  the  homesickness 
beginning  to  gather,  and  made  me  feel  that  I  was  not 
among  entire  strangers.  Here  I  spent  four  Sundays, 
and  formed  many  pleasant  acquaintances.  Politics  ran 
high.  Abraham  Lincoln  was  the  Republican  nominee 
for  President.  Slave-holding  Kentucky  was  separated 
from  Cincinnati  only  by  the  muddy  Ohio  stream.  But 
politics  ran  muddier  than  the  river.  A  man  said  to  me 
one  day  on  the  ferry-boat  that  he  thought  it  very 
wrong  to  nominate  a  man  for  the  Presidency  who  could 
not  safely  cross  that  river.  It  was  but  a  straw,  but  i 
told  the  course  of  the  stream,  as  events  proved. 

The  two  banks  of  the  river  told  the  stories  of  liberty 
and  bondage  in  large  type  that  the  dimmest  eyes  could 
read.  The  slave  bank  was  a  century  behind  the  free 
in  thrift  and  civilization.  No  threats  of  peril  in 
crossing  the  stream  could  intimidate  loyal  hearts. 
There  were  noble  anti-slavery  men  in  Cincinnati.  I 
was  introduced  to  one, —  Hon.  Salmon  P.  Chase,  "the 
founder  and  leader  of  the  Liberty,  afterwards  Free 
Soil,  Party."  He  was  a  fine  speciman  of  manhood, 
physically  and  intellectually.  He  was  then  in  his  prime, 
—  about  fifty, —  had  been  Governor  of  Ohio  and  United 


1 34  A  Htobiography 

States  Senator,  and  was  widely  known  and  honored  by 
all  who  believed  with  him  that  "  slavery  was  sectional, 
freedom  national." 

I  enjoyed  preaching  to  the  "little  flock,"  and  en- 
joyed the  outing,  but  was  glad  to  make  a  bee-line  for 
home  when  my  engagement  closed. 

Immediately  after  Mr.  Lincoln's  election  the  slave- 
holding  States  began  the  execution  of  their  long-stand- 
ing threat  of  secession.  South  Carolina  took  the  lead, 
passing  the  ordinance  of  secession  in  December,  1860. 
This  action  was  rapidly  followed  in  turn  by  Mississippi, 
Florida,  Alabama,  Georgia,  Louisiana,  and  Texas.  Be- 
fore Mr.  Lincoln  was  inaugurated,  the  Southern  Con- 
federacy was  organized,  with  Jefferson  Davis  president. 
They  had  seized  forts,  arsenals,  and  other  United 
States  property  within  their  reach,  together  with  large 
quantities  of  arms,  ammunition,  and  other  military 
stores,  much  of  which  had  previously  been  removed 
from  the  North.  Up  to  this  time  anti-slavery  people 
did  not  believe  that  the  seceders  would  make  war  with 
the  government  so  sure  to  liberate  their  slaves.  But 
on  the  1 2th  of  April,  1861,  the  United  States  flag  float- 
ing over  a  small  garrison  on  Fort  Sumter  was  shot 
down  by  a  Confederate  force,  and  the  bloody  war  com- 
menced. 

Never  can  I  forget  the  intense  excitement  and  deep 
solemnity  of  the  day  when  the  news  of  the  attack  on 
Fort  Sumter  first  reached  us.  It  was  as  if  a  wayward 
child  had  smitten  its  own  mother  on  the  cheek, —  nay, 
fired  a  bullet  in  her  heart.  Each  felt  the  death-dealing 
missile  as  aimed  at  him.  "Then  you  and  I  and  all  of 
us  fell  down,  and  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us." 


Fitckburg  Ministry  135 

Over  Main  Street  the  stars  and  stripes  waved  slowly 
and  solemnly  as  if  heavy  with  the  tears  of  a  nation's 
grief.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  never  saw  "our  flag"  till 
then.  The  insult  offered  to  it  gave  it  a  new  meaning 
and  preciousness.  As  a  disciple  of  Jesus,  I  had  felt 
myself  forbidden  to  fight  even  in  self-defence.  But 
here  something  far  higher  and  greater  than  self  was  in 
peril.  Not  I,  but  my  country,  was  assailed.  I  would 
not  fight  for  my  own  life,  for  I  would  sooner  lose  that 
than  take  another's ;  but  how  about  our  national,  or 
common  mother's,  life  ?  That  was  the  question  now.  I 
could  not  answer  it  at  once.  I  had  been  a  non-resistant 
for  years.  I  could  not  change  in  a  day.  I  must  be 
silent,  I  must  think,  I  must  pray.  I  must  go  up  into 
the  mount  alone,  and  ask  counsel  of  Him  who  guides 
nations  as  well  as  individuals  in  paths  they  know  not. 
All  the  week  I  was  in  mental  agony.  What  should  I 
say  to  my  parishioners  on  the  coming  Sunday  ?  The 
question  was  yet  unanswered  when  I  went  into  my  pul- 
pit, worn  with  anxious  thought,  and  told  them  all  my 
struggles.  I  just  opened  my  heart  to  them,  and  let 
them  see  how  it  was  torn  by  conflicting  ideas  and  emo- 
tions. My  anti-slavery  convictions  had  not  been 
deeper  than  my  anti-war  convictions ;  but  here  was  no 
question  of  self-defence,  but  the  defence  of  great 
national  principles,  involving  the  liberty  and  highest 
welfare  of  millions  of  people.  I  must  wait  till  I  could 
adjust  myself  to  the  new  conditions. 

The  people  received  the  sermon  kindly,  for  they 
knew  I  was  honest ;  and  I  think  they  respected  me 
none  the  less  for  not  being  hasty  in  changing  the  con- 
viction of  years.  I  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  A 


136  Autobiography 

new  sense  of  the  value  and  necessity  of  a  just  govern- 
ment broke  upon  me,  until  I  saw  clearly  that,  when  our 
national  life  was  assailed  with  brutal  violence,  and 
especially  for  the  purpose  of  perpetuating  sectional 
slavery  and  making  it  national,  violence  must  be  met 
by  violence,  or  the  republic  would  fall,  and  Senator 
Toombs  would  carry  out  his  threat  of  "  calling  the 
roll  of  his  slaves  in  the  shadow  of  Bunker  Hill  monu- 
ment " 

I  came  to  this  conviction,  which  seems  so  plain 
to  those  who  had  never  thought  otherwise,  only 
through  great  tribulation  and  anguish  of  spirit.  It 
seemed  like  going  down  from  some  serene  mountain 
height  into  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  But  it 
was  there  the  great  and  final  battle  with  slavery  was 
to  be  fought ;  and  as  I  heard  the  bugle-call,  and  saw  our 
truest  and  bravest  men  fall  into  line,  and  leave  all  for 
the  great  conflict,  not  in  defence  of  self,  but  in  defence 
of  national  honor  and  life,  I  felt  that  it  was  right,  and 
that  a  God  of  justice  would  not  suffer  our  cause  to 
fail. 

But  I  was  spoiled  for  the  war.  I  could  not  enter 
into  it  with  any  heart.  I  had  served  too  many  years 
under  another  banner  to  become  enthusiastic.  I 
bowed  to  the  stern  necessity,  and  read  the  lesson  so 
difficult  to  learn, —  that  God  has  many  ways  of  accom- 
plishing his  purposes,  and  may  in  great  national  crises 
be  as  truly  served  on  the  battle-field  as  in  the  house  of 
prayer. 

Since  then  I  have  had  no  trouble  about  voting,  save 
that  of  knowing  whom  to  vote  for.  I  learned  by  expe- 
rience what  most  others  take  intuitively,  that  human 


Fitchburg  Ministry  137 

government  is  a  necessity,  and  that  as  a  dernier  resort 
it  must  have  the  right  of  resistance  to  the  powers  of 
darkness  and  wrong. 

Still,  I  believe  in  the  divineness  of  overcoming  evil 
with  good,  and  think  that  the  less  the  government 
governs,  and  the  more  the  Christ  spirit  pervades  the 
hearts  of  the  people,  the  better  it  will  be  for  all.  Hon. 
Charles  Sumner's  strong  and  brave  discourse  on  the 
"True  Grandeur  of  Nations"  presents  the  highest 
ideal  for  national  ambition. 

Seven  days  after  the  attack  on  Fort  Sumter  Presi- 
dent Lincoln  issued  his  first  proclamation,  calling  for 
seventy-five  thousand  militia  for  three  months'  service. 
It  was  then  believed  that  the  rebellion  could  soon  be 
put  down.  Volunteers  readily  enlisted,  and  among 
them  a  young  man  in  our  parish,  who  was  studying 
medicine  in  the  Cambridge  Medical  School.  His  name 
was  James  Sumner  Greene ;  and  we  had  reason  for 
regarding  him  with  special  interest,  as  he  was  engaged 
to  be  married  to  our  own  precious  Laura.  They  were 
married  August  21  ;  and  he  immediately  left  for  the 
seat  of  war,  taking  Laura  with  him  as  far  as  Fortress 
Monroe. 

Willie  and  Georgie  were  both  at  school,  too  young  to 
enlist.  I  was  glad  of  it ;  for  the  shock  of  war  was  still 
upon  me,  and  I  could  not  look  upon  it  with  enthusiasm, 
but  only  as  a  dark  and  terrible  necessity. 

It  was  a  summer  of  great  military  disasters  to  our 
small  army.  We  were  all  unused  to  war,  and  many  a 
noble  life  had  to  be  laid  on  the  altar  of  liberty  before 
we  were  able  to  cope  successfully  with  our  formidable 
foe. 


138  Autob  iography 

But  I  am  not  writing  the  history  of  the  war,  only 
naming  such  incidents  as  touched  my  ministry  and  col- 
ored its  character.  Though  I  saw  the  war  must  be 
prosecuted  to  the  bitter  end,  yet  I  should  have  made  a 
poor  recruiting  officer.  The  sermons  most  popular  then 
were  those  charged  to  the  muzzle  with  powder  and 
shell.  Mine  were  not  of  that  character.  No  doubt  they 
seemed  tame  to  those  who  had  fathers,  sons,  brothers, 
and  husbands  in  the  service. 

Gradually,  the  impressions  which  led  me  to  resign 
the  year  before  returned ;  and  I  felt  that,  whether  yield- 
ing to  the  earnest  request  for  me  to  remain  were  a 
mistake  or  not,  it  was  clear  that  the  time  had  come  for 
me  to  go. 

But  the  attendance  at  church  morning  and  afternoon — 
for  we  always  had  two  services  —  was  large,  and  appar- 
ently interested;  and  I  was  reluctant  lo  go.  I  have 
never,  in  any  part  of  my  long  ministry,  preached  to  so 
many  people  continuously.  I  only  wish  I  could  have 
more  fully  met  their  needs. 

At  the  annual  meeting  in  1862  my  salary  was  not 
voted  in  full.  I  knew  this  was  not  owing  to  pecuniary 
inability ;  and  so,  taking  the  gentle  hint  as  kindly  as  it 
was  given,  on  the  last  Sunday  in  May,  1862,  having 
served  them  as  their  minister  just  seven  years,  I 
preached  my  farewell. 

Though  my  Fitchburg  ministry  had  some  inevitable 
trials,  it  had  many  blessings ;  and  the  friendships 
formed  there  are  still  fragrant  with  pleasant  memories. 
But  I  fell  so  far  short  of  my  hopes  that  I  felt  some- 
what as  Jacob  must  have  done,  when,  after  serving 
seven  years  for  Rachel,  he  got  Leah.  But  even  Leah, 


Fitchburg  Ministry  139 

though    "  tender-eyed,"    was    richly   worth    the    seven 
years'  service  of  light  and  shade. 

Now  we  were  afloat  again  on  the  wide,  wide  sea. 
But  we  did  not  forget  who  "  holds  the  waters  in  the  hol- 
low of  His  hand."  Laura  had  returned  to  us,  leaving 
her  husband  in  the  service,  in  the  medical  department. 
We  still  occupied  the  little  cottage  on  the  hill,  while  I 
went  out  as  a  rover. 


XIV. 

CHURCH    GREEN    MINISTRY. 
1862. 

CHURCH  GREEN.  —  NOTE.  —  REMOVAL   TO    BOSTON. — END   OF 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

THE  next  two  Sundays  after  my  farewell  I  preached 
at  Exeter,  N.H.  Then  one  Sunday  at  Church  Green, 
Boston.  The  two  following  Sundays  again  at  Exeter. 
Here  there  was  a  movement  to  give  me  a  call ;  but  my 
last  sermon,  on  "The  Refining  Power  of  Christianity," 
so  disturbed  a  certain  few  that  the  call  was  not  given. 
The  next  Sunday  I  conducted  the  service  again  at 
Church  Green,  and  administered  the  communion.  The 
Sunday  after  that  I  went  to  Norton,  and  had  a  delight- 
ful season  with  old  friends  there.  The  next  two  Sun- 
days I  preached  at  Jersey  City,  and  stopped  with  our 
good  friends,  the  Armstrongs. 

Returning  to  Fitchburg  for  a  few  Sundays'  rest,  I  re- 
ceived an  invitation  to  supply  the  pulpit  at  Church 
Green  for  four  Sundays.  I  greatly  enjoyed  preaching  in 
this  old,  octagonal  stone  church.  The  place  seemed 
made  for  worship.  The  people  were  reverential,  devout, 
and  the  singing  was  exquisite.  I  was  pleased,  there- 
fore, when  I  heard  they  were  thinking  of  giving  me  a 
call,  though  their  numbers  were  few,  and  everybody 
seemed  to  think  that  the  old  society  was  going  to  slow 
but  sure  decay. 


Church  Green  Ministry  141 

Warehouses  were  beginning  to  encroach  more  and 
more  upon  that  part  of  the  city,  and  the  days  of  the  ven- 
erable church  seemed  numbered.  Dr.  Dewey  had  been 
with  them  for  two  years.  Though  he  was  an  old  man, 
his  preaching  was  grand  as  ever ;  and  it  was  hoped  that 
that  would  arrest,  at  least,  the  steadily  waning  congre- 
gation. But,  when  he  left,  the  church  was  still  declin- 
ing. Still  I  hoped  they  would  invite  me  to  become  their 
pastor  ;  for  I  thought  it  possible  for  them  to  gather 
strength  enough  to  move  and  locate  elsewhere,  when 
the  absolute  necessity  for  change  came. 

On  the  day  when  the  pew-holders  were  to  decide 
on  giving  me  a  call,  an  incident  occurred  which  I  feared 
would  turn  the  tide  against  me.  It  was  early  in  the 
war,  and,  although  I  had  not  spoken  on  national  mat- 
ters, I  had  prayed  each  Sunday  in  a  way  that  had  dis- 
turbed some  of  the  congregation,  and  confirmed  the 
impression  otherwise  received,  that  I  was  a  political 
radical. 

On  the  morning  of  my  last  Sunday's  engagement  I 
found  in  my  little  room  below  the  pulpit  a  note  from 
one  of  my  best  friends,  one  whom  I  knew  was  most 
anxious  for  my  settlement,  expressing  the  hope  that  I 
would  be  careful  in  what  I  said  concerning  the  country, 
as  some  of  the  people  were  sensitive  on  that  subject, 
and  it  was  especially  desirable  that  nothing  should  oc- 
cur to  disturb  the  harmonious  action  of  the  society.  I 
was  greatly  pained  and  deeply  embarrassed.  To  yield 
to  the  suggestion  would  be  time-serving  and  cowardly. 
To  disregard  it  would  seem  like  wantonly  slighting  the 
counsels  of  a  friend.  What  should  I  do  ?  In  my  per- 
plexity the  thought  came,  "  Do  this  :  go  on  with  your 


142  Autobiography 

service  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  then,  after  you 
have  read  the  notice  of  the  meeting  to  be  held  directly 
after  the  service,  stop  yourself,  and  tell  the  people 
openly  and  honestly  just  what  your  position  is."  I  ac- 
cepted the  suggestion  as  from  above,  and  went  on  with 
my  ministrations  with  peace  of  heart. 

After  reading  the  notice,  I  remained  in  the  church ; 
and,  when  the  meeting  had  been  called  to  order,  I  rose, 
and  told  them  why  I  had  remained.  I  alluded  to  the 
pleasure  I  had  taken  in  preaching  to  them,  and  the 
satisfaction  I  should  feel  in  serving  them  in  the  minis- 
try if  they  should  desire  it,  but  from  a  note  re- 
ceived that  morning,  informing  me  of  the  feelings  of 
some  of  the  society  concerning  matters  of  vital  impor- 
tance to  me,  I  feared  there  might  be  some  reason  for 
not  giving  the  call.  At  all  events,  I  thought  it  was 
right  that  they  should  all  understand  my  position,  and 
so  had  stopped  to  make  a  clean  breast,  and  let  them 
know  just  where  I  stood. 

I  then  told  them  that  my  convictions  on  the  great 
questions  of  freedom  and  equal  rights  now  agitating  the 
country  were  not  of  recent  origin, —  they  were  the 
growth  of  years,  they  were  a  part  of  my  religion, —  and 
that,  wherever  I  ministered,  I  must  be  free  in  prayer 
and  sermon  to  give  expression  to  my  convictions  in 
such  a  way  as  my  own  judgment  dictated.  If,  with  this 
frank  statement,  they  felt  they  were  willing  to  trust  me, 
and  desired  my  services,  I  should  be  most  happy  to 
serve  them  according  to  my  ability. 

I  then  left  the  church,  and,  meeting  Mary  outside, 
we  walked  away,  silent  and  sad,  thinking,  most  likely, 
that  the  call  would  not  be  given.  We  had  both  become 


Church  Green  Ministry  143 

so  attached  to  the  church  and  the  people  it  was  painful 
to  think  that  this  was  the  last  time  we  should  meet  with 
them.  But  I  knew  I  had  done  right.  There  was  com- 
fort in  that,  come  what  might. 

Soon,  however,  we  were  met  in  the  street  by  a  mem- 
ber of  the  society,  who  told  us,  with  evident  pleasure, 
that  the  call  had  been  unanimously  extended  to  me  to 
become  their  pastor. 

I  accepted,  and  preached  my  inaugural  at  Church 
Green  Oct.  12,  1862.  We  sold  our  cottage  at  Fitch- 
burg,  packed  and  stored  our  household  goods,  and  came 
to  Charlestown  to  board  with  Aunt  Tempie,  where  we 
had  spent  so  many  happy  days.* 

The  children  now  were  scattered.  Laura  was  with 
her  husband  at  East  Boston,  who  was  continuing  his 
course  at  the  Harvard  Medical  School,  having  returned 
sick,  and  obtained  an  honorable  discharge.  Willie  was 
left  in  a  store  in  Fitchburg,  where  he  was  bravely 
earning  his  living;  and  Georgie  had  gone  to  Exeter  to 
prepare  for  Harvard,  so  Mary  and  I  were  left  alone 
again. 

The  next  spring  we  moved  to  Boston,  taking  a  house 
close  to  our  church,  79  Bedford  Street.  Our  parishion- 
ers were  very  generous  in  helping  to  furnish  the  home. 

•In  a  letter  written  about  this  time  to  his  friend  Mr.  J.  B.  Smead,  of  Fitchburg,  he 
says:  — 

"  We  brought  with  us  enough  to  furnish  one  chamber,  which  we  have  fitted  up 
quite  co«ily  for  sitting-room  and  study.  Carpet,  chairs,  pictures,  bookcases,  etc.,  give  it 
quite  a  homelike  air.  But  it  isn't  the  old  nest,  and  wouldn't  be  if  every  straw  were 
brought  here  and  laid  over  again  ;  for  the  birds  have  flown.  Sweet  nestlings,  how 
much  comfort  we  have  taken  in  feeling  them  under  our  wings !  But  they  are  fledged 
now,  and  it  is  the  ordering  of  the  great  Providence,  without  which  'not  one  sparrow 
falleth,'  that  they  should  spread  their  wings.  May  the  dear  God  guard  and  feed  them, 
and  shelter  with  his  love  the  boughs  on  which  they  build  1  " 


1 44  A  utobiography 

Here,  the  pen  was  laid  aside  for  more  pressing  duties, 
and  the  Autobiography  was  never  resumed. 

Another  hand  has  tried  to  tell  the  story,  as  much  as 
possible  in  his  own  words,  by  extracts  from  journals, 
private  letters,  and  Register  letters,  newspaper  cuttings, 
etc. 


XV. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  JOURNAL. 
1866. 

EXTRACTS   FROM  FAREWELL  SERMON    AT   CHURCH   GREEN. — 
MINISTRY  AT  LARGE. 

His  journal  of  1866  says  :  "  My  salary,  at  first  only  fif- 
teen hundred  dollars,  was  afterwards  increased  to  eigh- 
teen hundred,  and  subsequently  to  twenty-five  hundred. 
A  few  friends  have  been  disturbed  by  my  preaching  on 
national  affairs,  but  the  great  majority  have  been  good, 
warm-hearted  friends.  I  fondly  hoped  that  interest 
enough  in  the  society  might  be  awakened  to  induce  the 
proprietors  to  sell  the  present  church,  and  with  the 
funds  build  another  in  a  more  favorable  location ;  but 
that  hope  was  blasted  by  a  vote  of  the  proprietors,  early 
in  the  spring,  to  ask  leave  of  the  Supreme  Judicial 
Court  to  dissolve  the  corporation  and  divide  the  prop- 
erty." 

May  15  "  I  started  on  a  tour  to  the  'Far  West.'  My 
dear  friend,  George  A.  Blanchard,  residing  in  Dubuque, 
la.,  not  only  gave  me  the  most  cordial  invitation  to 
make  his  house  my  home,  but  offered  me  generous  fa- 
cilities for  travel.  It  was  a  delightful  journey.  The 
immense  extent  of  our  country,  its  untold  richness,  its 
inexhaustible  resources,  its  beauty,  the  kindness  of 


146  Autobiography 

friends  and  the  goodness  of  God,  were  all  abundantly 
manifest." 

July  i,  1866,  "Being  the  close  of  my  ministry  at 
Church  Green,  and  the  closing  of  the  church  for  re- 
ligious purposes,  I  preached  from  the  text,  '  A  voice 
from  the  temple/  —  Isaiah  Ixvi.  6." 

A  few  extracts  from  this  sermon  tell  the  story  of  the 
three  years'  ministry:  — 

"  It  is  not  strange  that  the  old  church  where  for 
long  years,  in  sorrow  and  joy,  we  have  come  up  to 
keep  holy  time  with  those  we  love,  should  have  been 
very  sacred  in  our  thoughts  and  to  our  religious  affec- 
tions, and  that,  when  its  portals  are  opened  for  the 
last  time,  it  should  be  filled  with  voices  for  the  heart, 
which,  though  silent,  may  be  far  deeper  and  more  im- 
pressive than  any  which  come  from  choir  or  pulpit.  .  .  . 

"  You  are  carried  back  again  to  those  early  days  when 
the  church  was  thronged  and  every  seat  was  filled. 
Again  you  see  the  old  familiar  faces  and  forms.  They 
crowd  the  porch,  they  walk  up  the  aisles,  each  with  his 
familiar  step  and  air.  They  take  their  seats,  some  at 
your  side,  some  yonder,  each  in  his  place.  You  stand 
again  at  the  baptismal  font  with  your  children.  You  re- 
member how  fervently  your  heart  prayed  for  a  blessing 
upon  the  little  ones  on  whose  brows  the  pure  waters  of 
baptism  were  sprinkled.  You  come  again  to  your  first 
communion,  and  are  reminded  of  the  freshness  of  your 
vows,  the  fervor  of  your  prayers,  the  entireness  of  your 
consecration,  the  fulness  of  your  love,  the  sacredness  of 
your  purpose.  You  recall  seasons  of  special  religious 
interest,  when  gospel  truth  was  bread  for  your  hungry 
souls,  and  when  'your  hearts  burned  within  you'  with 


Extracts  from  Journal  147 

a  new  love,  as  he  whom  you  honored  and  trusted 
'  opened  to  you  the  Scripture.'  You  remember  that 
season  of  deep  sorrow,  when  you  came  up  here  with  an 
overburdened  heart  and  went  away  with  the  burden 
lifted,  and  a  comforting  assurance  that  '  He  doeth  all 
things  well.'  .  .  . 

"There  is  only  one  really  sad  thought  connected  with 
the  giving  up  of  this  old  church  of  sacred  memories, 
only  one.  Changes  are  inevitable,  they  are  good,  they 
are  divinely  ordered.  They  help  on  the  soul  and  the 
world,  painful  as  they  sometimes  are.  The  one  really 
sad  thought  of  the  hour  is  that  this  religious  society  is 
to  become  extinct,  to  die, —  to  die,  with  all  the  means  of 
living  at  its  command  ;  to  die  of  its  own  free  choice, 
voluntarily,  suicidally. 

"  It  has  been  plain  for  a  long  time  to  those  who  have 
watched  the  rapid  changes  in  the  city,  and  the  inevi- 
table drifts  of  commerce,  that  this  church  edifice  must 
be  given  up.  No  efforts  in  the  ordinary  line  of  pulpit 
ministrations  could  prevent  the  slow  but  sure  decline  of 
the  congregations.  Even  the  eloquence  and  prestige  of 
Dr.  Dewey  were  as  unavailing  as  the  faithful  and  able 
labors  of  Dr.  Young  to  change  the  ebbing  tide.  When 
I  first  preached  here,  four  years  ago  this  summer,  it 
seemed  about  dead-low  water,  but,  small  as  was  the 
hope  of  any  permanent  increase  in  numbers  or  interest 
here,  yet  large  and  well  grounded,  as  I  thought,  was  the 
hope  that  in  due  time  this  church  would  be  removed  to 
a  locality  where  it  might  look  for  a  revival  of  its  old 
prosperity.  .  .  . 

"  I  seized  upon  that  hope,  and  held  it  fast ;  and,  the 
more  I  learned  of  the  real  condition  of  things  among 


148  AutobiograpJiy 

you,  the  more  clearly  I  saw  that  this  was  the  only  rea- 
sonable hope  of  continued  life.  You  had  already  lost 
the  elements  of  continued  growth.  The  Sunday-school 
had  been  given  up  for  sheer  lack  of  pupils.  Most  of  the 
young  people  had  left  the  church  to  go  where  they 
could  feel  the  breath  of  young  life  and  worship  with 
their  companions.  Few  remained  save  the  aged  and 
those  in  middle  life.  .  .  . 

"This  perpetuation  of  the  society  by  removal  seemed 
in  itself  so  simply  and  plainly  right,  so  in  harmony  with 
all  the  hallowed  and  reverential  associations  of  the 
church  from  the  beginning  of  its  history,  so  accordant 
with  the  natural  promptings  of  a  faith  that  feels  its  own 
worth, —  in  short,  so  many  'voices  from  the  temple' 
all  conspired  in  urging  it, —  that  I  was  unwilling  to  be- 
lieve, till  constrained  by  painful  facts,  that  it  would  not, 
in  some  way,  be  done.  .  .  . 

"But  a  large  majority  of  the  proprietors  of  this  relig- 
ious society  have  voted  to  ask  leave  of  the  Supreme 
Court  to  die,  to  dissolve  the  corporation  and  divide  the 
property.  I  rejoice  to  know  that  this  contemplated  dis- 
solution is  not  by  the  general  consent  of  all  its  mem- 
bers. Indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  the  votes  and  influ- 
ence of  the  pew-holders  who  have  ceased  to  worship 
with  us,  it  is  doubtful  if  the  measure  could  have  been 
carried. 

"  But  my  ministry  here,  though  failing  in  this,  its  lead- 
ing hope,  has  not,  I  trust,  in  all  respects  been  a  failure. 
It  certainly  has  not  failed  to  bring  to  me,  notwithstand- 
ing its  many  discouragements,  a  large  share  of  real 
pleasure.  I  have  enjoyed  my  pastorate  from  the  first 
hour  I  stood  in  this  pulpit  till  the  last.  I  well  remem- 


Extracts  from  Journal  149 

her  the  peculiar  feelings  of  that  first  hour.  There  was 
something  in  the  place,  its  venerableness,  its  fitness  for 
worship,  that  impressed  me.  There  seemed  to  be  mys- 
terious influences  around  me,  making  me  feel  that  it 
was  good  to  be  here,  and  giving  me  the  impression  that 
I  was  here  for  a  special  purpose  ;  and,  though  no  fruit 
of  my  ministry  may  seem  to  justify  the  feeling,  it  has 
cheered  me  through  all  my  labors,  and  even  now,  at 
their  close,  gives  me  the  hope  that,  little  as  I  have 
accomplished,  my  coming  may  have  been  a  necessary 
step  to  some  other  field  of  labor  I  may  more  worthily 
fill." 

His  journal  of  that  date  says  :  — 

"  Some  time  previous,  knowing  that  our  society 
would  probably  close  its  house  before  long,  I  had  re- 
ceived an  earnest  invitation  to  accept  of  a  ministry  at 
large  at  the  South  End.  My  heart  was  strongly  drawn 
to  it,  but,  after  serious  and  prayerful  deliberation,  I  de- 
clined, and  accepted  instead  the  duties  of  a  missionary 
of  the  American  Unitarian  Association. 

"  I  commenced  this  work  Saturday,  July  6,  1866.  In 
some  respects,  my  Boston  ministry  has  been  the  pleas- 
antest  part  of  my  ministerial  life.  I  have  enjoyed 
being  in  the  city  greatly.  My  health  has  been  excep- 
tionally good.  My  opportunities  for  fellowship  with  the 
most  cultivated  ministers  of  our  denomination  unusu- 
ally large.  I  have  enjoyed  the  meetings  of  the  Boston 
Association  and  the  Ministerial  Union,  and  they  have 
been  profitable  to  me.  I  have  found  many  good  friends, 
and  I  am  cheered  with  the  hope  that  my  ministry  in  its 
higher  aspects  has  not  been  in  vain.  Eighteen  have 
been  added  to  the  church,  among  them  my  own  dear 


150  Autobiography 

boys,  William  and  George.  This  was  a  joy  to  my  heart. 
May  God  bless  them,  and  keep  them  faithful  to  the  end  ! 
And  may  he  bless  with  his  love  and  guidance  all  the 
members  of  that  ancient  church  and  society,  no  more  to 
worship  together  in  the  dear  old  temple  made  sacred  by 
so  many  hallowed  associations  !  " 

Thanksgiving,  Nov.  29,  1866.  "We  spent  the  day 
with  Aunt  Tempie.  Laura  and  James  with  their  two 
children,  Joseph  and  George,  were  here.  Will  also  with 
his  Anna  was  with  us  at  tea  and  in  the  evening,  but 
George  was  at  Fitchburg.  Laura's  babe  is  a  beautiful 
boy,  but  I  fear  he  is  not  long  for  earth  :  his  eyes  are  too 
bright.  The  little  soul  seems  just  ready  to  come  out  of 
them.  Perhaps  he  is  in  search  of  his  baby  sister  Mary, 
whom  the  angels  took  more  than  a  year  ago." 

It  was  this  little  Mary  whose  birth  anniversary  was 
always  commemorated,  and  of  whom  the  grandfather 
wrote  to  the  mother  nineteen  years  afterwards  :  "  I  am 
glad  you  continue  that  most  touching  custom.  It  was 
sweet  when  you  gathered  the  children  of  her  age  to  keep 
the  advent.  It  is  fitting,  now  that  she  is  neither  child 
nor  maiden  longer,  to  have  ripe  womanhood  repre- 
sented. It  helps  to  bridge  the  way  between  the  two 
worlds,  so  that  the  sweet  intercourse  can  be  continued 
to  heart  and  inward  vision." 

The  fatigues  attendant  upon  the  constant  travel  and 
the  necessary  absence  from  his  family  which  the  mis- 
sionary work  entailed  induced  him  to  accept  the  invita- 
tion which  was  again  proffered  him  by  the  Benevolent 
Fraternity  of  Churches  to  a  "ministry  at  large,"  at  the 
South  End,  Boston.  He  says:  "The  work  has  its  at- 
tractions for  me.  I  have  long  felt  that  there  is  a  large 


Extracts  from  Journal  \  5  t 

class  of  persons  in  the  city  whose  wants  are  not  met  by 
the  ordinary  ministrations  of  religion.  We  need  more 
free  chapels.  If  this  be  the  work  for  me,  may  the  Holy 
Spirit  make  it  plain  !  " 

December  15.  "To-day  handed  in  my  acceptance  of 
the  call  named  above.  I  am  to  enter  on  my  work  the 
first  Sunday  in  January.  I  feel  happy  in  my  decision. 
I  trust  it  has  been  wisely  made.  But  I  shall  need 
strength  and  guidance  from  above.  O  Father,  grant 
it  for  thine  own  love's  sake.  Amen." 


XVI. 
EXTRACTS  FROM  JOURNAL. 

1867-1876. 

NEW  SOUTH  FREE  CHURCH.  —  EXTRACTS  FROM  JOURNALS, 
ANNUAL  REPORTS,  ETC.  —  DEATH  OF  MRS.  TILDEN.  — 
DEATH  OF  LITTLE  LAURA. 

JAN.  6,  1867.  "Yesterday  I  preached  in  Concord 
Hall,  Concord  Street,  Boston.  Subject,  'The  Neces- 
sity of  Free  Churches.'  It  was  a  severe  storm  in 
the  forenoon.  In  the  afternoon  it  brightened  and 
stopped  snowing,  though  the  walking  was  bad.  I 
walked  from  Charlestown  Neck  to  the  hall  after  dinner. 
Got  there  in  time  to  see  how  the  little  Sunday-school 
was  conducted,  after  which  we  held  a  service,  some 
twenty  or  thirty  present.  This  is  the  beginning  of  the 
pastorate  which  I  have  accepted  of  a  free  church. 

"We  commence  with  the  remnant  of  the  South  End 
Mission.  It  is  a  small  remnant,  very  small.  I  judge 
there  are  scarcely  a  dozen  adults  who  may  be  relied 
upon.  But  it  is  plain  that  a  free  church  is  needed,  and 
I  have  accepted  the  charge  in  faith  and  hope  that  with 
God's  blessing  a  church  may  be  established,  open  alike 
to  rich  and  poor,  where  that  class  especially  who  first 
heard  Jesus  gladly  may  find  a  religious  home." 

January  13.  "We  had  an  encouraging  number  at 
our  service  this  afternoon.  Many  of  my  old  friends 


Extracts  from  Journal  153 

were  present.  I  think  I  can  count  upon  some  of  them 
for  permanent  members  of  the  free  church." 

February  22.  Waverly  Terrace,  Shawmut  Avenue, 
Boston.  "We  have  once  more  a  'local  habitation  and 
a  name,'  though  it  is  not  yet  on  the  front  door.  We 
have  not  waited  in  vain.  We  like  our  house  much.  It 
is  sunny,  cheerful,  roomy,  and,  what  is  very  rare  for 
Boston,  it  has  a  pleasant  front  yard  with  trees  and 
shrubbery.  It  is  sweet  to  feel  that  we  have  a  home 
once  more.  Mary  is  happy  as  a  child  in  fitting  up  the 
house  and  making  it  homelike.  We  hope  the  boys 
will  soon  be  with  us  again.  Praise  God  from  whom  all 
blessings  flow." 

March  7,  1867.  "Yesterday  the  workmen  broke 
ground  for  the  foundation  of  our  new  free  church.  It 
sent  a  thrill  of  pleasure  through  me  as  I  saw  pick  and 
shovel  going  down  to  the  hard  pan,  and  the  teams  taking 
the  loose  earth  away.  So  with  our  moral  and  spiritual 
picks  and  shovels  may  we  go  down  to  the  hard  pan  of 
God's  truth,  as  shown  in  Jesus,  and  build  our  spiritual 
church  on  that, —  not  on  the  loose  earth  of  alluvial  creeds, 
the  deposit  of  a  spent  epoch,  or  on  the  artificial  base 
prepared  by  theological  pile-drivers,  but  on  the  hard  pan 
of  the  everlasting  and  eternal.  A  church  built  on  that 
will  stand.  No  beating  storm,  or  furious  wind,  or  dash- 
ing wave  can  move  it." 

April  24,  1867.  "Our  school  is  growing:  our  pros- 
pects are  bright.  The  Church  of  the  Unity  has  just 
contributed  ten  thousand  dollars  towards  the  building 
of  our  new  free  church." 

Until  about  the  first  of  May  there  had  been  only  after- 
noon service  and  Sunday-school.  Mr.  Tilden  wished  a 


154  ^  ntobiography 

morning  service.  Some  of  the  timorous  ones  feared  that 
the  movement  would  go  down  if  people  could  not  go  else- 
where Sunday  mornings.  "Let  it  go  down,  then,"  he 
promptly  replied.  "  We  will  make  a  trial  next  Sunday 
morning,  and  then  we  shall  know  how  many  really  be- 
long to  us."  The  experiment  was  tried.  There  was  a 
larger  attendance  than  usual,  and  henceforth  no  Sun- 
day ever  failed  of  a  morning  service. 

June  6,  1867.  Anniversary  Week.  "Having  been 
requested  by  Mr.  Lowe  to  speak  in  regard  to  the  mission- 
ary work  in  which  I  had  been  engaged,  I  consented.  Felt 
badly,  but,  when  the  time  came,  was  assisted,  and  suc- 
ceeded better  than  I  feared.  It  was  my  first  speech  in 
Music  Hall.  I  probably  never  addressed  so  many  peo- 
ple before.  But,  after  all,  what  is  an  audience  of  two 
thousand  but  one  of  two  hundred  multiplied  by  ten? 
The  material  is  essentially  the  same,  only  more  of  it. 
The  difference  is  in  size,  not  in  sense." 

August  of  this  year  (1867)  was  spent  in  Marshfield. 
His  journal  says:  "We  have  been  twice  to  Scituate. 
Last  Sunday  met  Mr.  May,  and  heard  him  preach.  It 
was  refreshing  to  listen  to  his  sweet  voice  once  more. 
In  the  afternoon  a  communion  service  was  held,  in 
which  Mr.  May  presided,  Brother  Fish  and  myself  par- 
ticipating by  each  offering  a  prayer.  It  was  a  delight- 
ful occasion,  a  real  Whitsuntide  in  our  experience,  a  clay 
white  with  the  tokens  of  God's  love,  bidding  the  tide  of 
sacred  memories  flow  into  heart  and  soul,  a  refreshing 
flood." 

Sept.  27,  1867.  "I  have  preached  twice  without 
manuscript  since  I  returned  from  the  seashore.  I  suc- 
ceeded well,  judging  from  what  I  heard  said  of  the  ser- 


Extracts  from  Journal  155 

mons,  though  the  second  attempt  was  not  so  satisfactory 
to  myself  as  the  first.  I  commenced  another  sermon 
designed  to  be  given  without  manuscript,  but  wrote  it 
out  so  fully  that  I  concluded  it  was  best  to  read  it.  I 
find  it  isn't  wise  to  make  too  elaborate  preparation. 
The  preparation  needed  is  of  thought  rather  than  words. 
When  I  have  plenty  of  thought,  there  is  little  difficulty  in 
putting  it  into  form.  It  clothes  itself.  But,  then,  we 
think  so  much  in  words  that  it  is  difficult  to  collect 
thought  without  clothing  it  as  we  think;  and  just  here 
is  the  danger  of  writing  too  much,  so  that,  when  you 
come  to  speak,  you  are  fettered,  perhaps  tripped,  by  the 
double  effort  of  memory  and  original  expression.  I  find 
I  am  more  easy  and  free  in  my  utterance  when  I  have 
only  the  leading  ideas,  letting  them  clothe  themselves 
as  they  will." 

Dec.  30,  1867.  "  Not  a  word  in  my  journal  for  three 
months.  I  hope  there  is  some  record  in  my  heart,  for 
those  months  have  been  crowned  with  divine  goodness. 
If  all  blessings  found  record  in  manuscripts,  '  the  world 
itself  would  not  contain  the  books  that  would  be  writ- 
ten.' My  work  progresses  hopefully.  On  Thanks- 
giving we  had  our  children  with  us. 

"  On  Christmas  we  were  all  invited  to  Laura's.  We 
had  a  delightful  time,  to  be  remembered  with  gratitude 
to  God  for  all  his  goodness,  and  especially  for  such 
precious  children  and  grandchildren  as  he  has  given  us. 
They  are  a  joy  to  our  hearts.  May  the  dear  Father 
fold  them  all  in  his  loving  arms  forever !  " 

The  society  continued  to  meet  in  the  hall,  up  two 
flights  of  stairs,  for  more  than  a  year,  while  the  church, 
corner  of  Camden  and  Tremont  Streets,  was  being 
built. 


156  Autobiography 

Sunday,  April  5,  1868,  the  first  service  in  the  vestry 
was  held,  the  room  above  being  still  unfinished. 

Of  this  he  writes  as  follows  :  — 

"  It  was  stormy  in  the  morning,  but  right  in  the 
midst  of  the  sermon  the  clouds  broke,  and  a  flood  of 
sunshine  burst  into  the  room.  It  came  like  a  benedic- 
tion from  the  skies,  a  baptism  of  light  and  cheer  we 
were  glad  to  hail  as  a  happy  omen." 

A  few  weeks  later,  on  the  evening  of  April  28,  the 
church  was  dedicated. 

Of  this  work  he  says,  seventeen  years  later,  in  his 
farewell  sermon  :  "  Our  numbers  had  so  increased  in 
Concord  Hall  that  we  began  our  worship  here  with  a 
very  encouraging  attendance.  We  were  not  many, 
it  is  true,  but  we  were  united  and  our  hope  was 
large.  Soon  after  the  dedication  the  society  held  a 
meeting  and  organized  under  the  title  of  '  The  New 
South  Free  Church.' 

"  I  came  here  to  change  the  mission  chapel  to  a  free 
church,  seats  free  to  all  and  welcoming  all,  rich  and 
poor  alike.  It  had  seemed  to  me  that  a  church  for 
the  poor  alone  was  just  as  far  from  the  spirit  of  the 
gospel  as  a  church  for  the  rich  alone,  that  both  were 
narrow  and  clannish,  and  that  a  true  church  of  Christ 
should  be  lifted  above  all  outward  distinction,  and  be 
a  church  of  humanity,  whose  doors  should  swing  on 
hinges  of  the  most  cordial  welcome  to  all  who  would 
come  and  worship,  and  work  together  for  the  grand 
objects  of  a  Christian  church. 

"  On  this  broad  plan  the  church  was  organized,  on 
this  base  we  have  worshipped  and  worked.  It  is  not 
a  mission  chapel,  though  we  rejoice  in  our  missionary 


Extracts  from  Journal  157 

work,  and  think  we  can  do  all  the  more  effectively  with- 
out the  name.  It  is  a  free  church,  and  to  those  who 
think  the  free  should  be  dropped  we  say  this  is  our 
special  glory.  It  is  our  crown  of  rejoicing.  For  this 
the  church  was  built,  for  this  it  is  sustained, —  not  as 
a  church  on  the  ordinary  close  corporation  plan,  but  as 
a  free  church,  absolutely  free  to  all,  without  regard 
to  outward  distinction  of  wealth,  culture,  or  color, —  a 
church  in  which  all  are  welcomed  by  virtue  of  their 
simple  humanity  as  the  equal  children  of  a  common 
Father. 

"  Our  numbers  have  never  been  large.  My  early 
hopes  in  this  respect  have  never  been  fulfilled.  For 
I  was  sanguine  enough  to  hope  at  the  beginning  that 
a  few  years  would  see  our  church  filled,  and  I  even 
imagined  how,  in  case  of  need,  we  might  push  out  a 
wing  towards  Tremont  Street,  to  seat  a  hundred  or  two 
that  could  not  be  accommodated  in  front.  But,  alas !  it 
was  only  the  wing  of  a  hopeful  imagination,  and  was 
never  spread." 

At  one  time  Mr.  Tilden  could  look  over  the  congre- 
gation and  see  one  or  more  parishioners  from  every 
parish  over  which  he  had  ever  been  settled,  who, 
leaving  their  country  homes  for  the  city,  had  sought 
out  their  old  pastor,  and  gladly  placed  themselves  once 
more  under  his  guidance  and  spiritual  care. 

Mrs.  Judge  Shaw,  Mrs.  Ann  Gould,  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Wheelwright,  Miss  Russel,  Messrs.  Willis,  Taggard, 
and  Taylor  were  among  those  who  followed  the  retir- 
ing pastor  from  Church  Green,  enabling  him  by  their 
presence  and  pecuniary  assistance  to  change  the  char- 
acter of  the  work  from  a  mission  ch;>pel  to  a  free 
church. 


158  Autobiography 

Others  who  did  not  attend  the  Sunday  services 
made  glad  his  heart  by  their  contributions  to  the 
"poor's  purse"  and  their  aid  in  all  efforts  to  meet  the 
necessary  expenses  of  the  work. 

A  few  extracts  from  some  of  the  Annual  Reports 
made  to  the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Benevolent 
Fraternity  of  Churches  may  be  of  interest. 

In  the  Annual  Report  for  1875  he  says  : — 

"The  attendance  on  our  Sunday  morning  service  is 
encouraging,  both  in  numbers  and  in  manifest  interest. 
As  our  doors  swing  both  ways,  and  egress  is  as  easy 
as  access,  none  stay  with  us  except  from  choice.  So 
we  have  no  grumblers, —  a  rare  felicity,  which  we 
highly  appreciate.  .  .  . 

"  We  numbered  on  our  Sunday-school  roll  at  the 
close  of  the  year,  including  teachers  and  officers,  two 
hundred  and  eighty-three.  I  regard  the  Sunday-school 
as  a  vitally  important  branch  of  our  free  church  work. 
As  we  hold  our  session  in  the  afternoon,  I  am  enabled 
to  take  the  superintendence  of  it ;  and  I  am  accus- 
tomed to  think  that  I  could  better  be  spared  from 
either  of  the  other  Sunday  services  than  this. 

"  It  is  said  sometimes  that  our  free  churches  are  too 
much  like  the  other  churches.  If  the  other  churches 
are  all  right,  this  should  be  to  our  praise. 

"  It  is  said  there  are  no  dirty  or  ragged  children  in 
our  Sunday-schools.  We  are  delighted  to  have  visitors 
notice  this,  for,  not  believing  in  dirt  or  rags,  our  effort 
is  to  clean  and  clothe.  Again,  it  is  said  that  well- 
to-do  people  attend  our  free  churches.  We  are  very 
grateful  that  they  do.  It  is  one  of  the  brightest  spots 
in  our  work.  We  welcome  all  such,  not  merely  for 


Extracts  from  Journal  159 

the  pecuniary  aid  they  render,  but  as  missionaries  of 
the  gospel  of  brotherhood.  .  .  . 

"  There  is  a  wide  difference  between  giving  and  min- 
istering. With  only  money  one  may  give ;  but  only 
with  love  and  sympathy  can  one  minister.  Desiring 
to  make  our  free  church  in  some  humble  measure  a 
ministry,  we  have  commenced  another  year  in  good 
heart  and  hope." 

One  of  the  special  features  of  this  ministry  was  the 
Friday  evening  conference  meeting,  of  which  he  says  : 
"The  various  themes  of  Christian  believing  and  living 
are  treated  in  a  familiar  way,  inviting  questions  and 
free  conversation.  Many  who  attend  them  count 
very  fondly  upon  this  oasis  hour  coming  between  the 
Sundays." 

"We  cannot  report  the  number  of  conversions  at 
these  or  any  other  of  our  meetings.  We  leave  all  this 
with  Him  who  '  knoweth  the  heart,'  content  to  hope 
that  some  soul  may  be  comforted  in  its  sorrow, 
strengthened  to  bear  patiently  the  heavy  burdens  of 
life,  and  inspired  with  a  brighter  hope  and  a  warmer 
love  for  God  and  man,  by  joining  with  us  in  prayer  and 
song  and  spiritual  communion  on  these  occasions." 

Who  of  those  who  attended  these  meetings  can  for- 
get the  strength  of  his  conviction  of  the  immortal  life, 
as,  with  his  face  illumined  and  his  soul  aglow,  he 
seemed  to  be  gazing  into  the  open  heavens,  and  mak- 
ing it  as  real  to  us  as  the  world  in  which  we  are  now 
living? 

No  account  of  this  ministry  would  be  complete 
which  did  not  speak  of  his  faithful  co-worker,  Mrs.  A.  L. 
Mayberry,  who  was  connected  with  the  mission  when 


160  Autobiography 

he  first  took  charge  of  it,  and  between  whom  and  him- 
self existed  a  sweet  and  strong  friendship,  lasting  not 
only  through  the  seventeen  years  of  his  pastorate,  but 
to  the  end  of  his  life. 

In  one  of  the  Annual  Reports  he  says :  "  I  wish 
to  bear  testimony  to  the  fidelity  of  your  missionary 
Mrs.  Mayberry,  and  to  the  marked  ability  with  which 
she  has  performed,  and  is  still  performing,  her  arduous 
duties,  and  to  her  special  fitness  for  her  peculiar  work, 
—  a  work  requiring  a  rare  combination  of  Christian 
sympathy  with  sound  judgment  and  practical  wisdom. 
I  count  it  a  great  favor  to  have  for  a  co-laborer  one  so 
well  fitted  for  the  work,  and  whose  interest  in  the  ob- 
ject of  the  mission  is  so  deep  and  hearty." 

His  journal  for  September,  1869,  says:  "We  spent 
our  vacation  at  Whitefield,  N.  H.  While  we  were  there, 
dear  George  sailed  for  Liverpool,  on  his  way  to  Paris, 
where  he  hopes  to  spend  some  time  in  the  study  of  his 
profession.  It  is  hard  to  have  him  go ;  but,  still,  I  am 
glad  he  has  the  ambition  to  desire  it.  May  God  bless 
the  dear  boy,  and  make  his  stay  abroad  fruitful  of 
many  blessings." 

November  7.  "  We  hear  from  our  absent  boy  every 
week.  It  is  a  cordial  to  our  hearts.  Our  boy  at  home 
has  just  started  in  business.  He  is  a  first-rate  fellow. 
May  God  prosper  him  !  " 

December  7.  "  Had  a  charming  letter  from  George 
yesterday.  We  are  thankful  for  these  words  from  the 
dear  boy.  They  are  meat  and  drink  to  his  mother  and 
me.  We  are  blessed  in  our  children,  the  three  on  earth 
and  the  one  in  heaven,  immortal  links  in  our  golden 
chain.  O  Father,  may  the  chain  that  binds  us  all  to- 
gether draw  us  all  closer  to  thee !  " 


Extracts  from  Journal  161 

August,  1870.  "Dear  George  returned  the  latter 
part  of  June,  enriched  by  study,  travel,  and  —  love. 
We  have  such  confidence  in  him  we  .feel  sure  that  the 
one  to  whom  he  has  been  attracted  must  be  pure  and 
noble,  though  we  have  never  seen  her. 

"  Dear  Will  and  Anna  had  a  daughter  born  to  them 
on  the  iQth  of  July.  They  have  called  her  Mary  Anna. 
God  bless  the  little  darling  with  its  father  and  mother ! 

"  We  have  now  four  grandchildren,  two  here  on  the 
shores  of  time  and  two  on  the  golden  shores  of  eter- 
nity. Joseph  Tilden,  now  eight  years  old,  a  bright  and 
beautiful  boy,  Laura's  first-born,  and  the  little  first-born 
of  Will  and  Anna,  here  in  the  flesh,  and  Mary  Foster 
and  Georgie,  children  of  Laura,  now  with  the  angels  in 
the  spirit  land. 

"May  the  invisible  arms  of  Love  Divine,  holding  the 
seen  and  the  unseen  in  their  embrace,  fold  them  all 
safely  and  lovingly  forever!  " 

May  n,  1872.  "  Day  before  yesterday  was  my  sixty- 
first  birthday. 

"  When  I  was  young,  in  the  early  part  of  my  ministry, 
I  thought  a  minister  should  retire  from  pastoral  charge 
at  fifty,  and  preach  only  now  and  then  as  occasion 
might  call.  As  years  went  by  I  ran  up  the  slide  to 
sixty  as  the  period  for  retiring.  But  here  I  am  at  sixty- 
one  still  in  the  harness,  and  hoping  to  hold  on  some 
years  more,  if  the  good  Father  should  spare  my  life.  I 
love  the  work,  it  is  as  dear  to  me  as  ever.  And,  al- 
though I  get  tired  ///  it,  I  never  get  tired  of  it,  and,  as 
soon  as  I  am  rested,  I  long  to  take  up  again  the  old 
staff  of  ministerial  duty.  It  is  a  budding  rod,  and  blos- 
soms with  many  a  joy  as  we  clasp  it,  and  climb  with  it 
the  ever-ascending  path  of  common  duties." 


1 62  Autobiography 

In  November,  1875,  she  who  had  walked  by  his  side 
for  over  forty  years 

"  Passed  through  glory's  morning-gate, 
And  walked  in  Paradise." 

A  brief  illness,  typhoid  fever,  ended  on  this  earth  a  life 
always  delicate,  but  a  life  of  untiring  devotion  to  hus- 
band and  children.  A  sermon  preached  soon  after  her 
going  away  has  the  following:  — 

"What  this  precious  one  was  to  me  and  to  her  chil- 
dren my  tongue  refuses  to  tell.  I  could  not  speak  it 
if  I  would,  and,  with  her  native  reserve  and  shrinking 
from  publicity  so  freshly  before  me,  I  would  not  if  I 
could.  But  you  know  how  often,  as  we  have  prayed 
together  here,  we  have  thanked  God  for  our  homes, 
and  asked  his  grace  that  we  might  be  true  to  all  home 
loves  and  duties.  What  my  home  has  been  to  me  and 
my  children  was  owing  much  more  than  I  can  tell  you 
to  the  loving  wife  and  mother,  so  faithful,  so  tender, 
so  true,  who  was  so  largely  its  light  and  joy.  Home 
was  her  earthly  heaven,  and  her  thoughtful  care,  her 
wise  counsel,  her  sweet  and  tender  affection,  made  it 
heavenly  to  us  all.  Few  knew  her  beyond  the  circle 
of  her  personal  friends.  She  was  quiet,  retiring,  in- 
clined more  to  silence  than  to  speech,  but  so  pure  and 
chaste  in  word  and  thought  and  life,  so  transparently 
truthful,  so  simply  and  naturally  good  and  true,  and 
loyal  always  to  her  own  highest  convictions,  that  to 
know  her  was  to  love  her." 

His  journal  has  the  following:  "Some  weeks  after 
mother  rose,  George  and  Alice  kindly  left  their  home 
in  Brookline  to  spend  the  winter  with  me.  In  Decem- 


Extracts  from  Journal  163 

her,  feeling  worn,  I  was  advised  to  go  away  for  a  little 
season,  and  went  to  Washington,  D.C.,  for  the  first 
time.  I  found  much  to  interest  me,  and  was  benefited 
by  the  change.  On  my  return,  I  stopped  in  New  York, 
and  there  heard  that  little  Laura  Mary  was  sick  in  Bos- 
ton of  scarlet  fever.  When  I  returned,  which  was 
early  in  January,  1876,  she  was  very  sick,  and  little 
Charlie  was  taken  ill  the  next  day.  After  two  weeks 
of  dreadful  suffering  little  Laura  became  an  angel. 

"  She  was  a  very  lovely  child.  I  think  that  at  times 
she  had  the  most  radiant  face  I  ever  saw,  in  one  so 
young.  She  was  full  of  exultant  life,  with  robust 
health,  rosy  cheeks,  and  sparkling  eyes,  that  flashed 
through  her  golden  hair  as  she  shook  it  over  her  face 
in  glee. 

"  The  very  day  we  followed  her  dear  form  to  the  field 
of  peace  little  Charlie  was  so  sick  that  it  seemed  as  if 
he  might  not  live  till  we  returned,  but  the  next  day  he 
was  better,  and  as  soon  as  possible  his  distressed  par- 
ents took  him  and  the  babe  Alice  out  to  their  Brook- 
line  home,  where  he  rapidly  recovered." 

"  Will  and  Anna  have  now  two  beautiful  girls,  May 
and  Cora." 

June  27,  1878.  "I  have  another  little  granddaugh- 
ter,* the  child  of  dear  Alice  and  George.  The  dear 
God  bless  the  sweet  lamb  and  its  happy  parents,  and, 
whatever  its  name  may  be,  may  it  be  written  in  the 
book  of  life  !  " 

*  Edith  Selina. 


XVII. 
EUROPEAN  TRAVEL. 


IN  the  summer  of  1878  Mr.  Tilden  went  abroad  for 
eleven  weeks,  his  pulpit  being  supplied  by  labors  of 
love  from  brother  ministers,  Dr.  Lothrop  in  his  case 
calling  it  "a  toil  of  fondness." 

In  speaking  of  the  proposed  trip,  Mr.  Tilden  says  :  "  I 
have  no  excuse  for  going  on  the  ground  of  illness  or 
overwork.  I  am  remarkably  well,  never  having  had 
the  ministerial  sore  throat  and  being  in  no  special 
need  of  a  sea  voyage  or  change  of  climate  on  account 
of  physical  prostration.  I  go  because  I  want  to,  I 
take  my  daughter  with  me  because  I  want  her  to  help 
me  enjoy  what  may  be  enjoyable  in  the  trip,  for  all 
pleasures  are  more  than  doubled  in  being  shared  by 
those  we  love." 

"  We  sailed  from  New  York  in  the  steamer  '  Devonia ' 
of  the  Anchor  line,  June  29.  The  day  was  clear  and 
bright,  like  the  hopes  of  the  large  party  of  two  hundred 
and  forty  odd,  about  to  launch  forth  together  on  our 
Musical  and  Educational  Excursion,  as  it  was  rather 
ambitiously  called.  The  friends  who  came  on  board  to 
shake  hands  and  say  a  parting  word  were  unusually 
numerous  because  of  the  unusual  number  about  to 
embark,  so  that  the  waving  of  handkerchiefs  from 


European   Travel  1 65 

the  hundreds  on  the  pier,  as  we  hauled  out  into  the 
stream,  was  prolonged  and  enthusiastic.  But  when  we 
were  fairly  off,  and  were  conscious  that  three  thousand 
miles  of  ocean  stretched  out  between  us  and  the  land 
we  were  seeking,  we  did  feel  —  I  did,  I  confess  —  a 
little  bit,  just  a  little,  you  know,  as  you  would  if  you 
had  been  one  of  us. 

"  But  our  noble  steamer  moved  off  stately  and  grace- 
fully, till  the  last  waving  flash  of  white  from  the  reced- 
ing pier  and  city  was  lost.  Then  each  wiped  the  —  dust 
from  his  eyes,  and  looked  out  on  the  beautiful  view 
which  opened  as,  without  a  sail  spread  and  scarcely 
a  ripple  at  the  sharp  prow,  we  glided  down  the  harbor, 
by  Staten  Island,  through  the  Narrows,  and  out  by 
Sandy  Hook." 

Of  the  celebration  of  the  Fourth  of  July  on  ship- 
board he  says  :  "  Some  one  of  our  company  had  written 
a  half-seas-over  poem,  to  be  sung  to  '  America '  and 
'  God  save  the  Queen,'  and,  as  I  was  the  only  one  to 
whom  the  handwriting  was  familiar,  it  fell  to  my  lot  to 
read. 

"  We  had  few  to  sing,  but,  with  Carl  Zerrahn  for  a 
leader,  it  was  bound  to  go.  So,  after  the  gun  was 
fired  and  the  hurrah  fitly  rendered,  I  planted  my  feet 
far  apart,  and  with  a  stout  man  at  my  back  with  a  hand 
on  each  shoulder  to  keep  me  steady,  the  paper  snapping 
in  the  wind  and  wet  with  the  spray,  I  read  the  verses, 
the  first  and  last  only  being  sung.  As  we  had  only 
one  copy,  I  had  to  deacon  the  lines  two  at  a  time,  and 
we  pilgrims,  '  while  the  breaking  waves  dashed  high,' 
sent  out  our  voices  on  the  wings  of  the  grand  old  na- 
tional air,  with  the  roar  of  wind  and  sea  for  a  chorus." 


1 66  Aiitobiography 

"  We  arrived  in  Glasgow  July  9,  and  our  first  day's 
journey  was  over  the  principal  Scottish  lakes  and  the 
region  known  as  the  Trosachs,  to  Sterling,  the  Royal 
Castle,  and  thence  past  the  historic  Bannockburn  to 
Edinburgh. 

"  Giving  only  one  day  to  Edinburgh  and  its  attrac- 
tions, we  took  a  special  train  by  the  North  British 
Railway  to  Melrose,  visiting  the  ruined  abbey  and  the 
home  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  then  through  Carlisle,  Leeds, 
Sheffield,  Leicester,  and  Bedford  to  London. 

"  I  think  I  never  enjoyed  a  day's  ride  so  painfully 
as  that  day,  in  the  little,  uncomfortable  box  cars 
made  in  the  shape  of  an  old-fashioned  stage-coach, 
with  door  on  the  side  fast  locked  for  fear  of  accidents. 
The  only  redeeming  features  were  the  weather  and  the 
views.  The  scenery  was  all  new  to  us,  and  as  interest- 
ing as  it  was  charming. 

"The  first  thing  that  struck  me  was  the  almost  en- 
tire absence  of  forests,  groves,  and  trees  generally.  But 
the  rich  grain-fields  were  waving  with  golden  harvests, 
just  then  being  gathered,  and  the  grass  on  hill-slopes 
and  valleys  had  the  same  peculiar  light  green  we  had 
observed  on  the  lawns  and  domes  of  Ireland  and  on 
the  mountain  borders  of  the  Scottish  lakes.  It  was 
curious  to  an  American  eye  to  see  how  all  the  houses 
in  Scotland,  in  country  as  well  as  in  city  and  town, 
were  built  of  stone.  We  do  not  remember  a  single 
building  of  wood  in  all  Scotland.  Even  the  shanties 
on  the  country  hillsides  and  valleys  have  their  walls 
of  stone  with  thatched  roofs.  The  scarcity  of  forest 
timber  is  the  obvious  cause.  It  gives  to  all  structures, 
great  and  small,  an  appearance  of  solidity  and  durabil- 


European   Travel  167 

ity,  in  singular  contrast  with  our  American  deal  and 
clapboard  method  of  construction. 

"  As  soon  as  we  strike  the  line  separating  Scotland 
from  England,  we  strike  brick.  All  through  England, 
especially  in  the  country,  brick  is  the  prevailing  mate- 
rial for  building.  But  the  views  on  either  side,  as  we 
sweep  on  in  our  lightning  express,  are  'dissolving,' 
save  those  at  a  distance,  which  did  not  seem  in  such 
earnest  haste,  and  remained  longer  in  the  field  of  vi- 
sion. These  gave  us  a  glimpse  of  the  rural  beauty  of 
England  and  the  richness  of  her  highly  cultivated  soil. 

"Here,  in  the  place  of  the  stone  walls  of  Scotland, 
the  eye  is  rested  with  the  green  hedges,  which  very 
largely  take  the  place  of  fences  all  through  England,  di- 
viding the  fields  into  parallelograms,  rhomboids,  and 
other  geometrical  figures,  creating  a  landscape  quite 
unlike  anything  we  see  in  our  country  districts. 

"But  the  New  England  eye  searches  in  vain  for  a 
barn  in  all  England.  This  seems  odd  enough  to  a 
Yankee,  accustomed  to  regard  the  barn  of  the  farmer 
as  quite  as  essential  as  his  house,  generally  much 
larger,  and  often  better-looking  and  more  cared  for. 
But  the  climate  of  England,  so  much  milder  than 
ours,  obviates  the  necessity  of  barns  by  permitting 
farmers  to  stack  their  hay  in  the  open  air.  But  they 
do  it  with  great  care,  thatching  the  top  of  each  stack 
like  a  cottage  roof,  to  shed  the  rain  and  keep  the  hay 
fresh  and  sweet.  The  long  rows  of  sheds,  seen  here 
and  there,  tell  of  sheltered  retreats  for  feeding  flocks 
and  herds  in  storm  and  cold. 

"  But  it  is  growing  dark  and  we  are  getting  tired  of 
looking,  when  the  engine  whistles  and  the  brakes  go 


1 68  A  utobiography 

down,  and  the  guard  cries  out,  'Bedford.'  This  is  only 
forty-eight  miles  from  London,  and,  if  you  have  ever 
read  '  Pilgrim's  Progress,'  you  will  remember  it  was 
in  a  jail  in  this  old  town  John  Bnnyan,  about  two 
hundred  years  ago,  wrote  his  immortal  volume.  We, 
too,  are  pilgrims  now,  glad  enough  that  we  are  within 
two  hours  of  the  'hub'  of  England,  which,  however 
foggy  and  smoky  and  dark  it  may  be,  we  look  for- 
ward to  as  a  'celestial  city'  to  our  aching  bones. 

"An  hour  or  two  more  of  reticent  nodding,  jouncing, 
and  pensive  contemplation,  quite  in  contrast  with  our 
jubilant  spirits  earlier  in  the  day,  and  we  are  roused 
by  the  cry  of  'London.'  It  is  eleven  o'clock.  But  the 
immense  platform  is  crowded  with  hack-drivers  and 
policemen,  and  general  confusion.  In  the  crowd  is 
the  junior  member  of  'Cook  &  Sons,'  on  whose 
tickets  we  are  travelling.  He  is  there  to  meet  us, 
and  greet  us,  and  assign  us  to  our  quarters  for  the 
night.  The  several  divisions  are  called  to  gather  in 
companies,  for  the  coaches  in  waiting.  We  could  not 
all  be  accommodated  at  one  hotel.  Each  division  had 
been  assigned,  so  we  must  guard  against  getting 
mixed.  My  daughter  and  myself  had  enlisted  in  the 
'Third  Division.'  We  waited  in  vain  for  the  call.  No 
Third  Division, —  what  did  it  mean  ?  We  had  heard 
'Second  Swiss'  vociferated  with  unction,  but  had  no 
knowledge  of  it, —  had  never  heard  of  it.  We  began 
to  feel  anxious.  The  most  of  our  party  had  gone.  It 
was  getting  toward  midnight.  '  Second  Swiss '  was 
again  shouted,  as  if  by  one  looking  up  stragglers. 
'That  isn't  our  name!'  'Yes,  it  is.'  Unknown  to  us, 
our  name  had  been  changed  some  time  on  the 


European   Travel  169 

voyage,  and  we  who  left  New  York  as  members  in 
good  and  regular  standing  of  '  Third  Division '  ar- 
rived in  this  hubbub  of  England  at  midnight  as  '  Sec- 
ond Swiss.' 

"  We  were  relieved  to  find  we  had  a  name,  though  it 
had  been  changed  by  our  sponsors  without  our  knowl- 
edge. But  it  was  not  a  pleasant  experience.  A  good 
night's  rest,  however,  carried  off  the  nameless  sensa- 
tion, and  we  awoke  refreshed  for  London  sight-seeing, 
promptly  responding  ever  after  to  our  new  name  of 
'  Second  Swiss.'- 

"  As  we  came  into  the  city  in  the  dark,  perhaps  it  will 
be  well  first  to  go  out  again  a  little  way  on  one  of  the 
elevated  railroads  and  see  how  the  city  looks  as  you 
approach  it  in  open  daylight.  The  view  from  the  ele- 
vated track  is  peculiar,  not  in  landscape,  but  in  roof- 
scape.  You  look  out  on  acres  and  over  square  miles  of 
roofs  and  chimneys  spread  out  like  a  small  Sahara, 
with  here  and  there  a  single  building  rising  above  the 
rest.  On  each  of  the  thousand  chimneys  standing  like 
grim  sentinels  on  this  waste  of  roofs  there  are  as  many 
chimney-pots  as  flues.  Multiply  each  stack  by  two, 
three,  four,  five,  or  six,  as  the  case  may  be.  These  pots 
are  of  all  sorts,  sizes,  shapes,  and  colors.  There  are 
tall  pots  and  short  pots,  straight  pots  and  crooked  pots, 
round  pots  and  octagonal  pots,  pots  ornamented  and 
pots  plain,  pots  in  groups  and  pots  single,  pots  black, 
pots  red,  pots  brown,  with  all  the  intermediate  shades 
which  London  smoke  is  capable  of  producing, —  all 
placed  there  simply  to  aid  the  draught,  without  the 
slightest  idea,  probably,  of  how  much  they  would  add  to 
the  picturesqueness  of  the  roof-scenery  of  the  great 
city." 


1 70  A  utobiography 

Then  follow  visits  to  the  Tower  of  London,  the 
Houses  of  Parliament  and  Westminster  Abbey,  St. 
Paul  Cathedral,  the  Albert  Memorial,  statue  of  Lord 
Nelson,  and  many  other  places  of  interest.  Of  the  old 
cathedral  he  says :  "  I  should  not  care  to  worship 
there  save  on  great  occasions.  I  love  life  better  than 
death,  the  living  present  better  than  the  dead  past. 
Still,  the  place  is  full  of  solemn  interest,  and  I  am  glad 
to  have  trodden  its  marble  floor  and  looked  on  its  mon- 
ument of  departed  glory." 

"July  1 7  we  embarked  at  Harwich  fora  twelve  hours' 
run  over  the  North  Sea.  Landing  at  Flushing,  but  not 
stopping,  we  take  train  for  Antwerp.  We  pass  through 
only  a  little  strip  of  Holland,  but  it  is  a  good  sample  of 
the  '  hollow  country,'  for  it  lies  below  the  sea-level,  pro- 
tected by  embankments  from  the  ocean  tides.  It  is  a 
low,  level  plain,  highly  cultivated,  with  very  few  trees, 
and  these  quite  diminutive  in  appearance. 

"  Streets  and  avenues  are  often  bordered  with  small 
poplars,  looking  as  straight  and  prim  as  the  toy  trees 
of  children  and  about  as  large.  We  did  not  see  a  good- 
sized,  respectable  tree  in  this  whole  region.  But  what 
Holland  lacks  in  trees  she  makes  up  in  windmills. 
The  reason  why  water  doesn't  run  down  hill  in  Hol- 
land is  not  owing  to  any  perversity  of  the  water,  but 
only  because  there  are  no  hills  for  it  to  run  down. 
So  the  winds  that  sweep  in  from  the  North  Sea  are 
made  to  do  the  grinding  and  flouring  of  that  rich  grain 
country. 

"  It  was  the  season  for  harvesting,  and  the  men  and 
women  were  in  the  fields,  doing  their  level  best. 
Woman's  right  to  do  a  man's  work,  wherever  she  can, 


European   Travel  171 

seems  to  be  fully  allowed  all  over  the  continent. 
Whether  she  duly  appreciates  her  privilege  I  don't 
know,  but  the  fields  she  joins  the  man  in  cultivating 
give  tokens  of  golden  harvests. 

"  I  was  surprised  to  see  the.  extent  of  the  shipping  in 
Antwerp,  and  the  splendid  docks  she  has  erected  for  its 
accommodation.  Its  quaint  old  streets  and  market- 
places, the  large  number  of  uniformed  soldiers,  the 
curiously  bonneted  peasantry,  and  the  street  cafes,  con- 
verting the  sidewalks  and  half  the  street  into  beer 
saloons,  seem  very  odd  to  an  American  eye. 

"But  its  main  attractions  to  an  overnight  tourist  are 
its  cathedral  and  museum  of  art.  In  all  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  war  to  which  the  city  has  been  subjected,  the 
cathedral,  with  its  spire  shooting  up  four  hundred  and 
four  feet  into  the  sky,  has  been  deemed  too  beautiful 
to  be  destroyed. 

"  In  the  south  transept  is  the  great  masterpiece  of 
Rubens,  '  The  Descent  from  the  Cross.'  It  is  wonder- 
ful for  its  delineation  of  death,  bloody,  cruel  death, — 
wonderful  as  a  work  of  art,  but  to  me  it  is  dreadful  to 
look  at.  It  is  like  looking  at  the  crucifixion  itself.  I 
wonder  how  people  can  stand  and  admire  the  art, 
the  force  and  vigor  of  the  muscular  delineation,  the 
admirable  foreshortening  of  a  limb,  or  the  exquisite 
coloring,  when  the  whole  picture  —  just  because  it  is  so 
masterly  —  is  so  ghastly  and  horrible. 

"  In  the  museum  one  is  painfully  impressed  with  the 
dolorous  character  of  most  of  the  pictures.  I  did  not 
understand  the  reason  of  this  till  I  learned  they  were 
mostly  collected  from  suppressed  convents.  I  think  a 
large  share  of  the  pictures  might  have  been  suppressed, 


172  Autobiography 

too,  without  harm.  They  perpetuated  the  old  idea  of 
appealing  to  the  religious  sympathies  through  various 
forms  of  the  suffering  and  dead  Christ. 

"These  painful  pictures  are  so  multiplied  that  at  last 
I  walked  by  them  with  my  hand  for  a  screen  to  shut 
them  out,  glad  to  find  now  and  then  some  object  of 
sweet  and  happy  life  on  which  to  rest  the  pained  vision. 

"  Of  course  there  are  some  beautiful  pictures  here, 
but  they  are  mostly  of  a  character  to  make  the  bright 
sunshine  and  pure  air  outside  a  particularly  pleasant 
change. 

"  Indeed,  the  air  and  sunshine,  the  moon  and  stars, 
are  about  the  only  things  here  that  seem  homelike. 

"  But  we  must  be  off  for  Brussels,  leaving  many 
things  of  interest  unnoticed. 

"  Brussels  is  a  very  beautiful  city,  combining  the  old 
and  new,  narrow,  old-fashioned  thoroughfares  with  broad 
spacious  avenues,  old  Flemish  houses  with  fine  modern 
structures,  in  a  very  charming  way. 

"  Two  things  everybody  must  see,  however  short  his 
stay  and  whatever  else  he  misses, —  the  lace  manufac- 
tory and  the  cathedral. 

"  I  must  tell  you  a  little  about  our  dinner,  or  '  table 
d'hote}  as  it  is  called.  Here  in  Brussels  it  consisted 
of  twelve  different  courses.  As  there  were  just  fifty  of 
us,  it  took  six  hundred  clean  plates  to  serve  our  party. 
This  sounds  very  luxurious.  It  gives  a  suggestion  of 
very  high  living.  But  it  is  anything  but  that,  I  assure 
you.  The  first  course  is  a  few  spoonfuls  of  soup  of 
some  sort.  Then  perhaps  a  small  piece  of  meat.  Then 
a  potato  as  a  special  course.  Then  fifty  more  clean 
plates,  and  a  bit  of  cauliflower  is  served ;  another  fifty 


European   Travel  173 

clean  plates,  and  a  bit  of  something,  you  don't  know 
what,  and  so  on,  number  eleven  being  generally  a  chick- 
en's wing —  where  they  get  so  many  chickens'  wings  is  a 
mystery  —  and  number  twelve  being  a  thin  slice  of  ice- 
cream, a  mere  suggestion,  just  enough  to  moisten  the 
mouth  and  make  you  think  how  nice  it  would  be  if  you 
could  only  have  some  to  eat  as  well  as  taste.  And  after 
all  this  clatter  of  dishes,  called  out  of  courtesy  courses, 
you  rise  faint  and  hungry,  thinking  what  you  would 
give  for  one  good,  old-fashioned  square  meal. 

"  We  have  no  time  to  speak  of  the  museums,  the 
picture  galleries,  ducal  palace,  palace  of  the  king,  and 
the  like,  but,  before  leaving,  I  must  quote  a  word  or 
two  which  I  find  jotted  down  in  pencil.  'It  is  funny 
to  see  how  we  are  stared  at  and  jabbered  about  by  the 
people  here,  as  if  we  were  from  New  Zealand  or  the 
interior  of  Africa.  Even  a  dog  harnessed  to  a  milk-cart 
barked  at  me  this  morning,  showing  that  he  perceived 
I  was  an  exotic.  He  evidently  felt  himself  high  above 
me,  though  not  too  high  to  speak,  in  his  own  way,  which 
I  understood  better  than  most  I  heard.' 

"  After  a  day's  ride,  with  the  thermometer  at  8o,° 
we  arrive  at  Cologne,  and  go  at  once  to  see  the  grand 
old  cathedral,  not  stopping  to  wash  or  sup.  I  name  it 
as  a  warning  to  all  travellers  never  to  be  guilty  of  such 
folly.  We  were  too  tired  to  see  and  too  hungry  to  ap- 
preciate if  we  could  have  seen.  The  next  morning, 
when  rested  and  breakfasted,  we  went  again,  and,  lo  ! 
what  we  were  too  tired  to  see  the  evening  before  came 
out  in  all  its  grand  old  glory." 

Then  comes  a  wonderful  day  on  the  Rhine,  the 
beauty  and  grandeur  increasing  with  every  mile.  His 


1 74  ^  utobiograpJiy 

note-book  says  :  "6  P.M.  The  last  hour  has  exceeded 
all  the  rest.  I  am  full.  I  close  my  book,  and  content 
myself  with  looking,  looking,  looking." 

Then  a  night  at  Wiesbaden,  a  railroad  ride  from 
Frankfort  to  Heidelberg,  which,  he  says,  "was  about 
as  beautiful  as  anything  this  side  paradise  could  be. 
Heidelberg,  the  famous  old  university  town,  lies  in 
the  charming  valley  of  the  Neckar,  girt  about  with 
everlasting  hills.  The  university,  the  castle  ruins, 
with  their  old  gardens  and  winding  paths,  the  magnifi- 
cent views  from  the  legendary  heights,  no  words  can 
fitly  describe." 

Baden-Baden,  Strasbourg,  a  Sunday  at  Schaffhausen, 
and  the  journey  to  Switzerland  is  entered  upon. 

"  Our  course  through  this  wonderful  land  is  zigzag 
through  the  elevated  plateau,  leaving  the  long  Jura 
range  on  the  right  and  the  broad  Alpine  belt  mainly 
on  the  left.  Our  first  stopping-place  after  leaving 
Schaffhausen  was  Zurich,  the  Boston  of  Switzerland, 
the  hub  of  Swiss  intelligence  and  industry. 

"The  next  day's  ride  was  to  Lucerne,  a  queer  old 
town,  with  its  buildings  all  jumbled  together  clear 
down  to  the  lake  shore.  Its  old  walls  and  watch  towers, 
and  narrow  bridges  for  foot  people  only,  its  church  and 
cathedral,  the  famous  '  Lion  of  Lucerne '  by  Thorwald- 
sen,  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock, —  these,  and  more  things 
than  I  have  time  to  name  even,  are  full  of  interest. 

"  On  the  afternoon  of  the  last  day  of  July  we  were 
booked  for  the  ascent  of  the  Rigi,  and  must  go  then  or 
never,  whatever  the  weather.  But  we  were  full  of  hope, 
with  just  doubt  enough  mixed  with  it  to  prevent  its 
intoxicating  influence. 


European   Travel  175 

"  By  the  help  of  our  kangaroo  engine,  we  first  mount 
up  over  the  little  village,  getting  a  balloon  view  of  its 
house-tops  and  church  spires.  And  now  we  mount 
higher  and  higher,  opening  out  into  a  sky  view  of  the 
beautiful  lake  below  and  the  valleys  spotted  with  vil- 
lages and  waving  with  golden  harvests.  '  Oh  !  this  is 
charming,'  we  all  say,  and  keep  saying  it  with  emphasis, 
just  as  if  somebody  had  doubted  our  assertions ;  but 
there  was  no  one  to  doubt,  and  we  were  all  ready  to 
declare  that  this  view  alone  would  richly  repay  us  for 
a  night  on  the  summit,  even  if  we  saw  nothing  more. 
No  sooner  said  than  done.  A  listening  cloud  near 
by  took  us  at  our  word,  and  closed  in  upon  us  forth- 
with. The  beautiful  picture  vanished.  Our  adjectives 
changed  to  meet  the  changed  conditions.  Our  spirits 
fell  with  the  barometer.  Conversation  took  a  more 
subdued  and  serious  cast.  We  were  resigned, —  of 
course  we  were;  but  how  could  we  be  jubilant?  Our 
little  kangaroo,  however,  didn't  seem  to  mind  it,  and 
kept  pushing  us  still  on  and  up,  till  he  landed  us  on 
the  summit.  Here  we  alighted.  We  could  see  the 
immense  hotel,  and  for  that  we  made  our  hungry  and 
thirsty  way.  Having  found  our  rooms  and  refreshed 
ourselves,  we  walked  out  into  the  dense  cloud.  I  had 
often  wished  myself  in  the  clouds,  when  a  child,  look- 
ing up  as  they  floated  over  so  gracefully.  It  didn't 
seem  nearly  so  nice  now  as  it  looked  then. 

"  But  we  congratulated  ourselves  on  being  almost  six 
thousand  feet  up  in  the  air.  True,  we  could  not  see 
anything,  but  we  might  if  it  should  break  away;  and 
so  we  strolled  round,  trying  a  sort  of  Swiss  content- 
ment and  take-it-easy. 


176  Autobiography 

"  Soon  I  observed  a  group  gathered  on  the  western 
brow  of  the  summit,  as  if  looking  down  at  something. 
Was  it  a  goat  on  a  sheltering  precipice,  or  a  gallant 
young  man  gone  down  the  perilous  cliff  to  pluck  a 
mountain  daisy  for  his  lady-love  ?  I  would  go  and  see. 
I  went,  and  saw !  Every  now  and  then  the  strata  of 
the  cloud  below  us,  growing  thin,  would  reveal  patches 
of  the  landscape  below.  The  whole  valley  being 
bathed  in  sunlight  while  we  were  in  cloud,  these  little 
gleams  of  beauty  we  got  through  the  gauzy  veil  of  mist 
were  the  most  charming  I  ever  saw.  There  we  stood 
and  watched  for  the  openings  in  the  veil.  For  a  long 
time  the  clouds  would  sweep  by,  so  heavily  laden  that 
nothing  could  be  seen  but  the  thick,  impenetrable 
leaden  gray,  extending  far  down  the  mountain  side. 
But  we  buttoned  up  our  coats  and  hugged  our  shawls, 
and  waited  till  by  and  by  another  view  of  the  transfig- 
ured valley  would  suddenly  break  upon  us,  all  the  more 
wonderful  in  its  beauty  for  being  seen  in  its  golden  ra- 
diance through  this  veil  of  mist. 

"Watching  these  dissolving  views  of  Nature's  own 
making,  time  passed  swiftly,  and  the  sunset  hour  drew 
nigh.  Should  we  get  a  view  of  the  mountains?  No- 
body could  tell,  but  we  were  mostly  Yankees,  and 
could  guess.  That  we  didn't  guess  alike  or  guess 
right  was  of  no  consequence.  There  was  a  satisfac- 
tion in  exercising  our  gifts.  But  the  clouds  did  settle, 
and  wander  off,  like  herds  on  the  mountain  side  going 
home.  The  heavy  cloud  which  the  Rigi  had  worn  all 
the  afternoon  slipped  off  his  head  and  wound  itself 
round  his  stalwart  form  as  a  mantle.  The  valleys 
were  filled  with  the  billowy  mist,  and  away  off,  where 


European   Travel  1 77 

we  knew  the  snowy  peaks  must  be,  a  ring  of  clouds 
hung  suspended,  hiding  all.  But  it  was  not  quite  sun- 
set yet,  and  we  waited.  Here  and  there  a  spot  in  the 
belt  of  cloud  grew  thin.  Hundreds  of  eyes  were  look- 
ing ;  for  ours  was  not  the  only  party  on  the  summit,  and 
groups  of  expectant  faces  on  the  knolls  and  elevated 
platforms  around  were  turned  mountain-ward  with 
eager  gaze.  A  shout  of  joy!  Some  one  has  caught 
sight  of  a  white  peak  through  an  opening  in  the  cloud. 
Another  blessed  rift,  and  another  peak  is  seen.  And 
now  another  in  a  new  direction  !  And  yet  another ! 
The  excitement  increasing  as  one  after  another  dis- 
covers a  new  peak  in  the  breaking  clouds, —  a  discov- 
ery second  only  to  that  of  Columbus,  when  from  the 
deck  of  the  '  Pinta '  he  sighted  the  longed  for  Western 
shore. 

"At  last,  when  all  had  become  discoverers,  the  ex- 
citement abated,  and  we  all  settled  down  into  a  calmer 
enjoyment  of  the  scene,  as  peak  after  peak,  range  after 
range,  came  into  view.  So  clear  is  the  air  that  they 
seemed  close  to  us,  though  some  of  them  may  have 
been  forty  miles  away.  As  the  sun  declines,  the  glory 
deepens.  At  last  he  kisses  one  after  another  good- 
night with  his  golden  lips,  and  the  gathering  darkness, 
hiding  them  from  view,  gives  rest  to  our  weary  eyes. 

"  Congratulating  ourselves  as  the  most  favored  of 
mortals,  we  go  to  our  suppers  and  our  beds  with  grate- 
ful hearts. 

"After  a  short,  cold  night,  we  were  roused  by  the 
blast  of  the  mountain  horn  as  the  dayspring  colored 
the  east,  and,  half  dressing  ourselves  for  fear  we  should 
be  late,  rushed  out  into  the  cold,  damp  mountain  air, 


1/8  A  utobiography 

and  waited  for  the  dayspring  to  brighten  into  dawn.  It 
seemed  to  be  a  long  time  brightening,  but  at  last  there 
was  light  enough  to  see  the  white  peaks  just  beginning 
to  show  themselves  on  the  dim  horizon.  They  looked 
cold  and  shivery.  Perhaps  it  was  the  reflection  of 
ourselves.  We  stamped  our  feet,  circulated  in  and 
out  among  the  queer-looking  bundles  of  clothes  hastily 
tied  up  into  a  resemblance  of  men  and  women,  and 
tried  to  hurry  up  old  Sol.  But  it  was  in  vain.  He 
was  slow  as  a  Swiss  in  his  movements,  but  sure  ;  for, 
see,  at  last  he  has  kindled  a  light  on  the  tip  of  that 
summit  yonder.  See  it  creep  down  the  snowy  sides, 
and  then  suddenly  leap  over  to  another  peak,  and  yet 
another,  and  another,  until  the  Bernese  Oberland  is  all 
ablaze  with  mountain  glory!  It  was  a  glorious  sight." 

Alpnacht,  Brienz,  and  Giessbach  were  visited,  a  mem- 
orable Sunday  at  Interlaken,  then  Freibourg,  quaint  and 
curious,  was  reached.  Of  this  he  says :  "  It  is  built 
largely  on  the  steep  slopes  of  a  deep  ravine,  through 
which  runs  a  small  stream,  which  is  spanned  by  a  gos- 
samer-like suspension  bridge,  nearly  a  thousand  feet 
long,  the  longest,  it  is  said,  in  Europe. 

"Across  another  ravine  close  by  is  another  suspen- 
sion bridge  nearly  as  long,  and  more  than  three  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  water.  I  don't  exactly  know  why 
it  was,  but,  when  I  went  to  the  edge  of  that  highest 
bridge  to  drop  a  pebble  into  the  stream  three  hundred 
feet  below,  I  stood  off  a  little  from  the  rail,  and  reached 
over,  so  that  I  didn't  see  just  how  long  it  took  for  the 
stone  to  fall.  And,  then,  as  I  walked  on  and  over  alone, 
in  the  rain,  I  found  myself  inclining  to  the  centre  of 
the  bridge,  and  walking  very  quickly.  Of  course  it 


European   Travel  1 79 

was  only  because  it  rained.  These  tight  rope  bridges 
over  yawning  chasms  may  be  very  safe, —  I  suppose 
they  are, —  but  it  takes  a  little  time  so  to  adjust  one's 
feelings  to  them  as  fully  to  enjoy  the  landscape  views 
they  give, —  especially  when  a  loaded  team  meets  you 
on  the  centre,  and  you  feel  the  whole  Swiss  wire  set- 
tle beneath  you. 

"We  were  sorry  to  leave  the  odd  jumble  of  a  city 
built  on  slopes  so  steep  that  the  inmates  of  one  tier  of 
houses  look  down  into  the  chimneys  of  the  next  neigh- 
bors below,  where  you  can  trace  the  old  city  walls  of 
the  feudal  age,  and  where  the  hotels  are  so  accommo- 
dating as  to  let  you  drive  right  in  through  the  front 
door,  a  whole  omnibus  load,  and  alight  in  the  carriage 
room  and  stable,  which  occupy  the  first  floor." 

The  next  day  he  was  in  Geneva.  He  says :  "  It  is 
the  most  densely  populated  of  any  Swiss  town,  and 
since  it  slipped  out  of  the  hands  of  Napoleon,  after 
that  little  mishap  at  Waterloo,  and  was  restored  to  the 
Swiss  Confederation,  it  has  been  one  of  the  foremost 
cities  of  Switzerland. 

"Here  John  Calvin,  that  stern,  strong,  powerful 
theological  dogmatist,  lived  and  wrought,  fighting  with 
Luther,  Melanchthon,  and  Zwingli  the  battles  of  the 
Reformation. 

"  For  every  blow  he  struck  for  political  and  ecclesi- 
astical liberty  the  world  will  hold  him  in  honor,  but 
his  unrelenting  persecution  of  Michael  Servetus  for  a 
difference  in  the  interpretation  of  Scriptures  he  was 
pleased  to  call  heresy,  culminating  at  last  in  the  burn- 
ing to  death  of  Servetus  by  a  slow  fire  of  green  wood, 
incited  and  sanctioned  by  Calvin  and  his  associates  in 


1 80  A  iitobiography 

Church  and  State,  is  a  stain  upon  his  character  as  well 
as  his  name,  which  no  palliating  circumstances  can 
ever  wash  away. 

"While  there,  I  found,  though  with  difficulty,  the 
spot  where  the  shameful  tragedy  took  place.  My 
first  inquiries  at  the  hotel  were  fruitless.  No  one 
seemed  to  know  anything  about  it.  All  knew  about 
Calvin  ;  but  who  was  Servetus  ?  I  finally  went  to  the 
American  consul,  and  even  he  was  obliged  to  inquire, 
so  sweetly  forgetful  the  Genevese  had  become  of  that 
little  excitement  caused  by  the  burning  of  a  heretic 
three  hundred  years  ago.  At  last  I  found  the  place 
where  the  martyr  to  free  thought  was  burned.  No 
stone,  no  token  of  the  heroism  or  the  hate  there  re- 
vealed, marked  the  spot ;  and,  as  I  stood  there  alone, 
how  could  I  but  thank  God  for  the  marvellous  change 
in  human  thought  and  religious  toleration  ? 

"The  '  Academic,'  a  fine  building,  contains  a  portrait 
of  Servetus,  under  which  is  written,  '  Burned  at  Geneva 
for  the  honor  and  glory  of  God.' 

"But  we  look  once  more  on  the  charming  lake  and 
its  surroundings,  spend  the  last  franc  we  can  spare  at 
the  persuasive  stores  where  so  many  attractions  tempt, 
and,  grateful  for  our  thirteen  days  of  never-to-be-forgot- 
ten pleasure  in  this  cloud-land  of  beauty  and  grandeur, 
take  the  train  for  Paris.  We  pass  out  of  the  station, 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  women  washing  their  clothes  in 
the  rushing  Rhone,  shoot  out  into  the  open  country 
and  follow  the  river  down  the  valley,  where  grandeur 
and  beauty  still  follow  us,  as  if  reluctant  to  part,  till 
twilight  comes  on,  and  after  a  night  on  wheels  that 
know  no  rest,  and  allow  but  little,  we  find  ourselves  in 


European   Travel  181 

the  dim  morning  light  in  the  midst  of  what  is  called 
the  finest  city  in  the  world." 

A  few  days  in  Paris,  a  few  days  in  London,  and  the 
homeward  bound  voyage  is  embarked  upon. 

In  his  own  church,  September,  1878,  he  said  : 
"  When  I  last  stood  in  this  pulpit,  eleven  weeks  ago 
to-day,  to  tell  you  a  little  of  my  proposed  trip,  I  spoke, 
from  the  words  of  a  hopeful  prophet,  of  'going  down 
to  the  sea  with  a  song.'  For,  while  I  was  not  unmind- 
ful of  the  perils  of  the  great  deep,  I  was  sure  that,  what- 
ever might  befall,  it  was  always  safest  and  best,  every 
way,  not  to  anticipate  calamity,  but  to  go  forth  with  a 
song  of  trusting  faith  in  Him  'who  holdeth  the  waters 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.' 

"  And  now,  as  I  come  again  to  meet  you  and  greet 
you,  after  nearly  ten  thousand  miles  of  travel  by  sea  and 
land,  without  a  single  accident  or  an  hour's  serious 
sickness  in  the  whole  journey,  the  precious  old  Script- 
ure, '  If  I  take  the  wings  of  the  morning  and  dwell  in 
the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea,  even  there  shall  thy 
hand  lead  me  and  thy  right  hand  shall  hold  me,'  comes 
to  me  with  a  new  meaning. 

"  I  have  been  borne  on  the  wings  of  many  mornings 
and  varying  winds  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  our  Atlan- 
tic Sea,  and  back  again  with  so  rich  an  experience  of 
his  protection  and  blessing  that,  if  I  have  not  felt  his 
invisible  hand  guarding,  the  fault  must  be  looked  for 
in  myself,  and  not  in  that  providence  of  love  which 
overarches  us  all,  and  always. 

"I  have  had  a  good  time,  have  enjoyed  much,  have 
seen  many  things  new  and  foreign ;  and  yet  I  have  seen 
but  a  little  streak  of  ocean  waters,  and  only  a  narrow 


1 82  Autobiography 

belt  of  Scottish,  English,  and  continental  scenery  and 
life,  just  enough  to  show  what  travel  would  reveal,  of 
interest  and  instruction,  if  one  only  had  the  time  and 
means  to  do  it  leisurely,  reaping,  binding,  and  binning, 
on  the  way,  all  the  rich  harvests  of  historic  associa- 
tions waving  luxuriantly  on  every  hill  and  plain. 

"  But  I  stayed  long  enough.  I  had  rather  have  my 
bird's-eye  view,  taken  on  the  wing,  and  home  than  a 
long  stay,  with  a  longer  separation  from  the  only  peo- 
ple that  care  anything  about  me  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  I  have  always  told  you  on  returning  from  my 
short  vacations,  spent  at  the  mountains  or  the  seashore, 
that  the  best  part  of  going  away  was  coming  home 
again ;  and  this  becomes  more  emphatic  as  the  distance 
increases.  So  that,  as  I  have  been  about  ten  times  as 
far  away  as  ever  before,  I  am  ten  times  as  glad  to  be 
at  home  again,  to  look  into  your  faces,  to  give  and  re- 
ceive the  cordial  greeting,  and  to  know  that  the  same 
divine  hand  which  reveals  itself  in  the  uttermost  parts 
of  the  sea  is  seen  and  felt,  also,  in  its  guidance  and  pro- 
tection on  the  land  just  as  truly." 


XVIII. 
CHARITY   LECTURE. 

1879-1880. 
REST. —  MARRIAGE. —  CHARITY  LECTURE. 

AFTER  another  year  devoted  to  his  chosen  work,  his 
journal  of  Oct.  5,  1879,  says:  "I  preached  from  the 
text,  '  I  am  weary.'  I  told  my  dear  little  flock  I  was 
too  weary  to  go  on  with  my  work,  and  must  rest  for  a 
season.  It  is  a  great  step  to  take,  but  it  seems  the 
right  thing  to  do.  God  grant  that  so  it  may  prove. 
The  Rev.  Francis  S.  Thacher  supplies  my  pulpit  for  ten 
Sundays,  occupying  my  rooms  and  serving  the  society 
as  its  pastor.  May  the  dear  God  bless  him  and  his 
labors  ! " 

Sunday,  December  22.  "  Having  recovered  my 
strength,  I  resumed  my  labors  to-day  with  a  Christmas 
service  and  communion." 

Feb.  19,  1880,  he  was  married  to  Miss  M.  Louise 
Haley,  who  had  been  for  twenty-five  years  a  parish- 
ioner, his  dear  friend,  Rev.  Dr.  H.  W.  Bellows,  perform- 
ing the  ceremony. 

On  the  first  Sunday  in  December,  1880,  he  delivered 
the  annual  "  Charity  Lecture  "  in  Hollis  Street  Church, 
and  the  following  correspondence  ensued  :  — 


184  Autobiography 

BOSTON,  Dec.  7,  1880. 

Dear  Sir, —  After  the  conclusion  of  the  exercises  at  Hollis 
Street  Church  last  Sunday  evening  it  was  unanimously  voted  by 
the  representatives  of  the  churches  having  charge  of  the  Charity 
Lecture  that  a  copy  of  your  excellent  sermon,  and  of  the  poem 
with  which  it  concluded,  be  asked  of  you  for  publication.  They 
thought  that  in  no  better  way  could  they  endeavor  to  recall  the 
public  attention  to  this  oldest  charitable  institution  in  Boston  than 
by  giving  a  general  circulation  to  your  most  interesting  sketch  of 
this  charity  and  to  your  touching  poem.  We  hope  that  the 
same  exalted  motive  which  inspired  you  to  write  them  will  prompt 
you  to  comply  with  their  request. 
Yours  sincerely, 

G.  WASHINGTON  WARREN,  Chairman. 
JOHN  CAPEN,  Secretary. 

To  this  Mr.  Tilden  replied  as  follows :  — 

Dear  Friends, —  Your  kind  note,  transmitting  to  me  the  vote  of 
"  the  representatives  of  the  churches  having  charge  of  the  Charity 
Lecture,"  in  which  you  are  pleased  to  urge  so  persuasively  my  com- 
pliance with  the  vote,  gives  me  all  the  more  pleasure  that  there 
was  not  the  most  distant  thought  of  such  a  request  being  made 
when  the  hasty  sketch  of  our  city  charities,  beginning  with  the 
oldest,  was  written.  But  surprised  as  I  was  by  your  request,  and 
inadequate  as  I  know  the  paper  to  be,  I  cheerfully  yield  it  for 
print,  if,  on  further  thought,  you  may  deem  it  desirable. 

The  "Christmas  Story  in  Rhyme,"  with  which  I  closed,  was 
written  for  another  occasion,  and  printed  a  few  years  ago  in  the 
Old  and  New.  As  it  suggests  a  kind  of  charity  that  no  organiza- 
tions can  fully  supply,  a  charity  to  which  all  are  called  by  the 
Holy  Spirit  of  Human  Sympathy,  I  yield  that,  also,  to  your  wishes. 
Yours  for  all  good  things,  old  and  new, 

W.  P.  TILDEN. 

A  few  extracts  from  this  lecture  may  be  read  with 
interest.  The  text  chosen  was  from  Heb.  xiii.  16 : 
"  To  do  good  and  to  communicate  forget  not ;  for  with 
such  sacrifices  God  is  well  pleased." 


Charity  Lecture  185 

He  says:  "I  have  been  so  much  interested  and  edi- 
fied in  looking  over  the  ancient  records  that  I  beg  the 
privilege  of  noting  some  things  which  may  prove  of  as 
much  interest  to  some  of  you  as  they  have  to  me. 
These  records  have  been  kept  with  remarkable  fidelity 
and  legibility,  showing  the  good  penmanship  of  colonial 
days,  and  making  it  easy  to  trace  the  stream  of  benefi- 
cence which  it  chronicles,  and  which  has  watered  the 
wastes  of  poverty  in  our  city  for  one  hundred  and 
sixty  years. 

"  The  head-waters  of  the  stream,  like  most  head- 
waters, are  lost  in  obscurity;  but  the  first  recorded 
spring  bubbled  up  from  a  little  circle  of  benevolent- 
hearted  folk  who  were  accustomed  to  meet  quarterly, 
on  Sunday  evenings,  for  charitable  purposes,  at  the 
house  of  one  Elder  Brigham.  After  the  Elder's  death 
they  met  with  his  son  Henry,  and  still  later  at  the 
house  of  Deacon  Jonathan  Williams,  such  ministers  as 
they  deemed  desirable  and  could  obtain  being  invited 
to  preach. 

"  But  there  is  no  record  of  these  meetings  up  to 
1720,  when  it  was  decided  to  request  the  ministers  of 
the  town  to  take  their  turns  in  regular  course.  With 
this  new  arrangement  the  record  begins.  Cotton 
Mather,  naturally  enough,  was  the  first  to  preach  ;  and 
he  took  for  his  text  the  words  that  I  have  quoted :  '  To 
do  good  and  to  communicate  forget  not ;  for  with  such 
sacrifices  God  is  well  pleased.'  Dr.  Mather  was  at  this 
time  about  fifty-seven,  in  the  prime  of  his  powers,  a 
colleague  of  his  father,  Increase  Mather,  in  the  pas- 
torate of  the  North  Church,  the  father  being  in  ad- 
vanced age.  The  first  meeting  was  held  March  6, 


1 86  Autobiography 

1720;  and  a  collection  was  taken  of  thirty  pounds  and 
ten  shillings,  distributed  among  sixty-one  persons.  At 
first  these  quarterly  gatherings  were  known  simply  as 
'  Charity  Meetings,'  but  subsequently  as  '  The  Quar- 
terly Charity  Lecture.'  Under  the  latter  title  the  or- 
ganization has  come  down  to  us. 

"  For  twenty  years  after  the  new  departure  the  meet- 
ings were  still  held  in  the  house  of  Deacon  Williams ; 
but  in  1740  they  went  to  the  'Chamber  of  the  Town 
House,  where  the  Representatives  meet.'  Two  years 
later  is  this  quaint  record:  'March  7,  1742,  Mr. 
Crocker,  a  young  gentleman,  preached  for  Rev.  Thomas 
Prince.  Such  a  thronged  assembly  of  women,  boys, 
&c.,  that  the  gentlemen  who  usually  attend  could  not 
get  in.  Collected  £7$.  Lost  by  ye  thronged  assembly 
at  least  ^30.'  This  is  interesting,  as  showing  that 
in  those  primitive  times  they  thought  more  of  the 
amount  collected  than  of  the  largeness  of  the  con- 
gregation. 

"In  1785  it  was  thought  best  to  remove  to  the  Old 
South  Meeting-house.  Here  they  continued  to  hold 
the  lectures  until  the  great  fire  rendered  it  unfit  for 
use. 

"  I  find  by  the  record  that  I  am  destined  to  go  down 
to  posterity,  or  up  to  the  top  shelves  of  the  Historical 
Society,  as  the  last  preacher  of  the  Quarterly  Lecture 
in  the  Old  South  Meeting-house  while  it  was  yet  a 
church,  and  before  it  became  itself  an  object  of  public 
charity.  To  one  whose  prospect  of  posthumous  dis- 
tinction is  limited  there  is  some  comfort  even  in  this." 

"  All  the  Mathers  —  Increase,  Cotton,  and  Samuel, 
father,  son,  and  grandson  —  were  on  the  stage  when 


Charity  Lecture  187 

the  record  of  this  charity  began.  Here  we  meet  with 
Wadsworth,  Foxcroft,  Chauncy,  Colman,  Checkley, 
Peter  Thacher,  Joseph  Sewall,  and  Thomas  Prince  of 
the  Old  South,  famous  as  a  preacher  and  a  man  of 
letters.  This  was  the  Prince  whose  quaint  prayer, 
when  the  French  fleet  was  on  its  way  with  the  inten- 
tion of  laying  Boston  in  ashes,  is  thus  thrown  into 
verse  by  Longfellow  :  — 

" '  O  Lord,  we  would  not  advise, 

But  if  in  thy  providence 
A  tempest  should  arise 

To  drive  the  French  fleet  hence, 
And  scatter  it  far  and  wide, 

Or  sink  it  in  the  sea, 
We  would  be  satisfied; 

And  thine  the  glory  be.' 

"  The  fleet  never  arrived. 

"  Here,  too,  we  meet  with  Mather  Byles,  the  first 
minister  of  Hollis  Street  Church,  ordained  as  its  pastor 
near  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  who  during  the  latter 
part  of  his  life,  in  Revolutionary  times,  was  arrested 
for  his  sympathy  with  the  Tories,  and  put  under  guard, 
which  was  changed  from  time  to  time,  till  his  final  re- 
lease, leading  him  to  say,  with  his  usual  wit,  that  he 
had  been  'guarded,  regarded,  and  disregarded.' 

"  Here,  too,  we  meet  with  Dr.  Belknap,  of  hymnal 
notoriety,  and  Howard,  John  Eliot,  Dr.  Cooper, .  Dr. 
Kirkland,  Channing,  Buckminster :  here,  also,  we  meet 
Greenwood,  Ware,  and  Pierpont,  and  so  on  to  those 
who  are  still  among  us,  honored  and  beloved. 

"  One  of  the  many  things  noted  in  this  record  is  the 


1 8  8  A  utobiography 

fact,  very  simple  in  itself,  that  'June  7,  1830,  Rev. 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  preached.'  The  title  sounds 
queer  now.  But  we  can  almost  hear  his  low,  rich  voice 
repeat  rather  than  read  the  text  he  chose  for  the  occa- 
sion :  '  Let  no  man  seek  his  own,  but  every  man  an- 
other's wealth.' 

"'Sept.  2,  1838,  Rev.  Mr.  Bartol  preached.  This 
being  the  first  time  he  was  ever  called  to  preach  this 
lecture,  he  knew  not  the  hour,  and  came  late.'  I  know 
of  no  one  who  can  better  bear  this  record,  since  in  his 
later  youth  no  one  has  shown  himself  more  free  from 
the  charge  of  what  has  been  called  a  'belated  theolo- 
gian.' 

"  This  ancient  and  honorable  charity  has  raised  and 
expended,  during  its  one  hundred  and  sixty  years  of 
work,  two  hundred  and  eighteen  thousand  dollars.  It 
must  be  said,  however,  that  a  large  part  of  the  annual 
receipts,  of  late  years,  has  come  from  the  bequests  of  a 
former  generation,  the  interest  of  these  bequests  being 
added  each  year  to  the  collections. 

"The  smallest  box-collection  recorded  occurred  on 
Dec.  6,  1863.  It  was  one  dollar  and  sixty  cents.  But 
even  then  the  shades  of  the  departed  came  forward 
and  made  up  the  amount  to  one  thousand  four  hun- 
dred and  forty-one  dollars  and  eighty-nine  cents.  The 
worthy  scribe  makes  this  comment:  'The  lecture  was 
very  thinly  attended,  so  that  a  similar  occurrence  will 
probably  stop  fot procession  of  the  contribution-boxes.' 
'  One  dollar  and  sixty  cents  !  ! '  he  adds,  with  two 
scornful  exclamation  points." 

Then  follows  an  account  of  the  various  charitable 
and  beneficent  organizations  of  Boston  ;  and  the  ser- 


Charity  Lecture  189 

mon  closes  with  an  earnest  appeal  for  "  the  sweetest 
and  most  blessed  charities  where  hand  and  heart  go 
together,  and  the  soul  of  the  needy  one  is  fed  with 
real  sympathy,  while  the  body  is  supplied  with  needful 
food." 


XIX. 

SEVENTY. 

1881. 

MAY  9,  1881,  "his  generous-hearted  parishioners 
celebrated  his  seventieth  birthday  by  inviting  as  many 
of  his  old  friends  outside  the  parish  as  the  church 
could  accommodate. 

We  copy  from  "  Seventy,"  a  little  book  printed,  but 
not  published,  and  which  was  a  record  of  the  services 
of  that  evening  :  — 

"An  informal  meeting  was  held  at  which  reception 
and  refreshment  committees  were  appointed.  Mrs. 
Maybury,  Mr.  Tilden's  assistant,  though  her  name 
does  not  appear,  was,  virtually,  a  most  active  and  effi- 
cient member  of  all  the  committees  by  her  wise  coun- 
sel and  invaluable  assistance. 

"Mr.  Henry  C.  Whitcomb,  who  was  the  first  man  to 
greet  Mr.  Tilden  to  his  new  field  of  labor  in  Concord 
Hall,  fourteen  years  ago,  was  selected  to  preside ;  and 
Mr.  William  Parkman,  an  active  member  for  years, 
born  on  the  same  day  as  Mr.  Tilden,  was  invited  to 
speak  a  word  of  welcome  to  the  assembled  friends. 

"THE   OCCASION."— MAY  9,  1881. 

"The  weather  was  delightful,  and  the  church  well 
filled  with  parishioners  and  invited  guests.  The  Bos- 


Seventy  191 

ton  Association  of  Ministers,  having  been  invited  to 
meet  with  Mr.  Tilden,  was  largely  represented. 

"The  pulpit  and  platform  were  tastefully  decorated 
with  flowers,  all  gifts  of  love ;  and  the  whole  church,  in 
its  chaste  simplicity,  seemed  to  reflect  the  smile  of  the 
happy  people  gathered. 

"The  services  opened  with  a  voluntary  on  the 
organ,  followed  by  the  Lord's  Prayer,  chanted  by  the 
congregation. 

"  Mr.  Whitcomb  then  rose,  and  said :  '  Dear  friends, 
we  have  met  together  to-night,  as  a  loving  family  and 
its  guests,  to  congratulate  our  dear  pastor,  friend,  and 
brother  on  this  his  seventieth  birthday.  It  is  not  an 
occasion  for  sadness,  but  rather  for  joy  and  gladness  • 
and  may  our  hearts  go  out  to  God  in  thankfulness  and 
love  that  our  pastor  has  been  spared  to  us  for  so  many 
years,  in  the  fulness  of  his  strength  and  vigor,  to  guide 
and  counsel  us  to  a  better  living  and  preparation  for 
the  life  beyond !  We  can  well  say  the  world  is  better 
for  his  living ;  and  may  the  Lord  crown  his  coming 
years  with  glory  and  strength  !  Our  pastor's  twin  (in 
years),  brother  Parkman,  will  now  give  to  the  friends 
present  our  word  of  welcome.' 

"  Mr.  Parkman,  in  an  off -hand,  free-and-easy  vein, 
touched  with  humor,  as  is  his  wont,  made  a  pleasant 
speech  of  welcome,  which  was  responded  to  by  Rev. 
S.  K.  Lothrop,  D.D.,  in  behalf  of  the  Boston  Associa- 
tion, as  follows:  — 

"'Mr.  Chairman  and  Friends, —  It  falls  to  my  lot  as 
moderator  of  the  Boston  Association  of  Ministers  to 
thank  you  for  the  welcome  you  have  given  us  to  this 
pleasant  occasion, —  the  celebration  of  your  pastor's 


1 92  A  titobiography 

seventieth  birthday.  Let  me  assure  you  that  all  the 
members  of  our  Association,  his  brothers  and  co-work- 
ers in  the  ministry  in  this  city  and  neighborhood,  feel 
as  deep  an  interest  in  this  gathering  and  its  purpose 
as  you  do.  We  are  as  ready  as  you  are  to  hold  our 
brother  Tilden  in  grateful  reverence  and  honor.  We 
dare  not  say  that  we  know  him  as  well  you  do,  who  see 
him  day  by  day,  week  in  and  week  out,  year  after  year, 
as  he  discharges  with  singular  wisdom,  fidelity,  devot- 
edness,  and  success  the  duties  of  his  ministry  among 
you.  But  we  know  him  well.  We  know  something 
of  his  history  and  more  of  his  progress,  development, 
power,  and  usefulness.  We  know, —  at  least  I  know, 
for  brother  Tilden  told  me  so  many  years  ago, —  and 
I  dare  say  it  is  known  to  all  of  you;  and,  if  it  is  not,  I 
am  glad  to  tell  it,  for  it  is  to  his  glory  and  honor.  He 
said  to  me  many  years  ago,  "  Brother  Lothrop,  the  first 
time  I  ever  heard  you  preach  was  in  1835  or  1836,  in 
Mr.  Stetson's  church  at  Medford ;  and  at  that  time  I 
was  a  journeyman  ship-carpenter  in  one  of  the  Medford 
ship-yards."  I  have  loved  and  honored  Mr.  Tilden  ever 
since  he  told  me  that.  I  believe,  if  I  had  been  a  jour- 
neyman ship-carpenter  at  the  age  of  twenty-four  or  five, 
I  should  not  have  had  energy  or  power  enough  to  work 
myself  out  of  that  ship-yard  into  the  pulpit,  much  less 
into  an  honored  and  eminent  place  in  the  pulpit. 
Brother  Tilden  has  done  this.  We  know  that  he  has 
never  been  called  to  any  duty  that  he  has  not  dis- 
charged thoroughly  well  to  his  own  honor  and  the  ac- 
ceptance and  satisfaction  of  those  who  called  him  to 
perform  it.  We  know  that  in  every  parish  of  which  he 
has  had  charge  there  the  kingdom  of  God  has  grown 


Seventy  193 

and  enlarged  ;  that  everywhere  he  has  left  impressions 
upon  hearts  and  consciences  which  time  has  not  oblit- 
erated, but  life  and  character  have  given  testimony 
to  their  abiding  power.  And  now,  arrived  at  that  ex- 
cellent age  which  may  be  regarded  as  simply  the  full 
maturity  of  human  power,  we  find  him  here  to-night, 
surrounded  by  his  loving  parishioners  and  friends,  in 
the  vigor  of  health  and  strength,  with  a  glory  in  those 
full  white  locks  that  fill  us  with  reverence  (and  some 
of  us  with  a  passing  shade  of  covetousness;  for  why 
should  brother  Tilden  have  such  a  quantity  of  those 
locks,  and  I,  his  senior,  so  few?),  and  with  the  fulness 
of  experience,  wisdom,  and  love  beaming  in  his  counte- 
nance, with  everything  about  him  giving  hope  and 
promise  of  long  years  of  happiness,  honor,  and  useful- 
ness yet  to  come.  .  .  . 

"  '  "  God  buries  his  workmen,  but  carries  on  his  work." 
In  gratitude  and  thankfulness,  let  us  remember  the 
fathers  who  have  fallen  asleep,  and  the  legacy  of  hon- 
orable fame  they  have  left  us.  Let  us  imitate  their 
virtues  and  avoid  their  faults,  if  they  had  any ;  and  let 
us  all,  the  elder  and  the  younger,  according  to  our  years 
and  our  strength,  keep  our  hands  at  the  plough,  and 
see  that  we  cut  a  clean,  deep  furrow,  straight  for  the 
truth  and  by  the  truth.  Sure  I  am  that  brother  Til- 
den  will  do  this  in  the  future  as  in  the  past.  In  the 
name  of  the  Association  and  in  behalf  of  his  brethren, 
I  congratulate  him  upon  having  reached  this  golden 
period  of  life.  May  it  last  many  years,  in  all  its  glory, 
beauty,  and  usefulness ;  and,  when  the  end  comes,  may 
it  be  like  the  launch  of  one  of  those  beautiful  ships 
which  he  helped  to  build  in  his  youth, —  a  slow,  grand 


194  Autobiography 

movement,  growing  more  and  more  grand  and  majes- 
tic, till  at  last,  like  as  it  floats  out  upon  the  water,  he 
may  float  in  peace  and  safety  upon  that  mighty  ocean 
of  spiritual  life  for  which  his  soul  has  been  so  thor- 
oughly prepared.' 

"Rev.  E.  E.  Hale,  D.D.,  responded  to  the  call  of 
Mr.  Whitcomb  as  follows  :  — 

" '  It  will  hardly  be  believed  that  I  am  stepping  so 
closely  upon  our  friend's  footsteps  that  I  could  give  to 
this  assembly  anecdotes  of  his  early  ministry.  For 
when  I  was  breaking  the  ice  myself,  in  that  curious 
and  fascinating  experience  when  a  young  man  begins, 
one  of  the  cheerful  and  happy  prognostics  for  my  pro- 
fessional life  came  to  me  when  I  first  heard  his  name. 
I  was  in  the  city  of  Washington,  detached  thither  to 
take  such  care  as  a  boy  could  of  the  Unitarian  pulpit 
in  that  city.  As  I  made  my  first  visit  in  one  of  the 
stalwart  households  of  that  city,  they  told  me  of  their 
regret  in  leaving  Concord,  in  New  Hampshire,  because 
they  had  to  leave  our  Mr.  Tilden.  It  was  to  me  a 
charming  picture  of  the  tie  knit,  not  in  many  years, 
between  pastor  and  people;  and  I  know  I  did  my  best 
to  learn  from  them  by  what  magic  that  tie  was  woven. 
The  impression  I  formed  of  this  young  man  has  never 
changed,  as  to-night  I  need  not  say.  And  one  of  the 
happinesses  of  life  now  is  that  we  are  thrown  together 
as  two  colleagues  here,  both  still  young  men,  and  per- 
mitted to  do  our  work  side  by  side.' 

"The  presiding  officer  called  on  Rev.  C.  A.  Bartol, 
D.D.,  who  said:  — 

"  '  My  Friends,  my  B  tot  her,  my  Brethren,  and  my  Sis- 
ters,—  Dr.  Lothrop  spoke  of  our  comparatively  more  or 


Seventy  195 

less  knowing  Mr.  Tilden.  I  was  reminded  of  the  mod- 
ern positivist,  materialistic,  utilitarian,  experimental, 
scientific  notion  of  knowledge,  as  of  facts  generalized 
by  the  understanding  from  impressions  of  sense.  But, 
indeed,  do  we  not  know  persons  as  well  as  phenomena, 
appearances  of  things  ?  It  seems  to  me  we  know  them 
even  better.  Properly  speaking,  in  the  strict  meaning 
of  the  word,  we  cannot  be  said  to  know  things  at 
all,  but  only  to  know  about  them,  to  recognize  certain 
properties  in  them ;  but  persons  are  really  known  to 
us.  They  are  nearer  to  us,  and  things  are  farther  off. 
We  go  round  anything  as  we  go  round  a  mountain. 
But  the  person  is  close  to  us,  and  we  know  him  or  her 
more  truly,  living  in  our  sight  or  vanished  away.  The 
affections  know,  the  heart  knoweth.  Now,  Mr.  Tilden 
is  a  man  we  know  by  our  love  and  trust.  I  remember, 
at  the  ordination  of  Charles  Pollen  to  the  ministry,  Dr. 
Channing  thanked  God  for  a  man  in  whom  we  could 
confide.  I  have  only  to  say  that  in  Mr.  Tilden  we 
can  and  do  confide.  We  know  him,  with  his  radical 
thought,  conservative  heart,  courageous  speech,  rever- 
ent and  spiritual  mind,  uniting  all  extremes  in  a  beau- 
tiful proportion.  May  he  long  still  live,  and  stay  here 
to  teach  and  console  ! ' 

"  Poems  written  for  the  occasion  by  Mrs.  C.  A. 
Mason  of  Fitchburg,  Mrs.  T.  H.  Burgess  of  Boston, 
and  Miss  Elizabeth  Thacher,  a  teacher  of  the  Sunday- 
school,  were  then  read. 

"  A  few  extracts  from  some  of  the  many  letters  :  — 


196  Autobiography 

"  LETTER   FROM   DR.   BELLOWS. 

"  My  dear  Old  Friend  and  Young  Heart, —  Please  communicate 
to  your  society  my  inability  to  join  them  on  the  gth  of  May  in 
celebrating  their  pastor's  arrival  at  the  canonical  goal  of  human 
life,  and  my  extreme  regret  that  I  can  only  share  in  spirit  the  in- 
terest of  that  occasion.  I  should  so  much  like  to  give  them  in 
person  my  testimony  to  the  unchanging  devotion  of  your  soul  to 
the  highest  and  purest  interests  of  humanity,  the  constancy  of 
your  friendship,  and  the  enviable  power  of  holding  to  you  forever 
those  you  once  attached.  I  should  dwell  upon  my  happiness  in 
having  been  for  seven  years  (when  you  were  by  no  means  so  ripe 
as  now)  your  summer  parishioner  at  Walpole,  N.H.,  and  of  shar- 
ing the  universal  feeling  there, —  what  a  lucky  and  happy  people 
they  were  to  have  so  large  a  minister  in  so  small  a  field.  .  .  . 

"  I  know  what  kind  of  a  slip  you  have  given  old  Time,  and, 
while  allowing  him  to  make  his  notches  in  his  own  record,  have 
carefully  prevented  his  making  them  in  your  spirit.  I  sometimes 
think  you  wear  his  outward  livery  (a  great  white  head  and  beard) 
only  to  deceive  him,  and  make  him  think  you  his  humble  servant ; 
for  I  find  you  very  boyish  and  alert  and  enterprising  when  I  look- 
beneath  the  disguise.  I  should  like  to  take  lessons  against  a  re- 
mote future,  if  you  are  really  as  young  and  gay  as  you  behave. 
"  Affectionately  your  young  friend, 

"  H.  W.  BELLOWS. 

"LETTER  FROM  WILLIAM  T.  BRIGGS,  CONGREGATIONAL  MINISTER 
OF  EAST  DOUGLASS,  MASS. 

"My  dear  Brother, —  I  received  the  very  kind  and  cordial  in- 
vitation from  your  church  to  join  in  the  observance  of  your 
seventieth  birthday.  The  announcement  was  very  startling,  and, 
Thomas-like,  I  refuse  to  believe  that  my  friend  is  a  whit  older 
than  when  we  swung  the  broad-axe  together.  Do  you  remember 
when,  laying  out  frames  and  hewing  heavy  timber,  we  discussed 
almost  fiercely  the  high  themes  of  'fore-knowledge,  free  will,  and 
fate,'  'till,  in  endless  mazes  lost,'  we  ended  about  where  we  began  ? 
Do  you  remember  how  cordially  we  differed  on  doctrinal  points, 
and  how  you  would  hammer  away  on  the  hard  side  of  Calvinism  ? 


Seventy  1 97 

Do  you  remember, —  if  you  do  not,  I  do, —  when  I  was  about  leav. 
ing  Andover  Seminary,  your  earnest  invitation,  twice  repeated,  to 
preach  in  your  pulpit  at  Concord,  on  the  Sabbath?  It  seemed  to 
me  then,  and  does  now,  that  was  a  liberal  thing.  But  do  you  re- 
member my  reply  ?  If  you  do  not,  I  do ;  and  a  pretty  narrow  and 
mean  reply  it  was,  I  think.  I  said :  '  You  must  not  expect  me  to 
return  this.  I  am  willing  to  preach  in  your  pulpit,  but  not  willing 
that  you  should  preach  in  mine.'  Nobly  you  accepted  the  terms, 
and  it  has  been  a  shame  to  me  ever  since.  .  .  . 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you  at  threescore  and  ten  that  your  large 
eye  is  undimmed  and  your  natural  strength  unabated. 
"  Lovingly  and  fraternally  yours, 

"  WM.  T.  BRIGGS. 

"  Mr.  Tilden,  being  now  called  upon,  received  a 
warm  welcome  from  the  audience,  and  spoke  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

" '  My  kind  Parishioners  and  Friends, —  What  a  pity 
a  man  can  never  be  seventy  but  once,  especially  when 
he  comes  to  "  the  canonical  goal,"  as  Dr.  Bellows  calls 
it,  with  blessings  so  many  and  so  rich  as  greet  me  here 
to-night ! 

"  '  I  do  thank  you  all, —  my  ever  thoughtful  and  gen- 
erous parishioners  for  this  birthday  party,  my  kind 
friends  for  accepting  the  invitation  to  share  the  oc- 
casion with  us,  and  for  the  cordial  words  and  kindly 
greetings  from  present  and  absent  ones  in  prose  and 
verse.  I  am  in  a  mood  to-night  to  pardon  all  the 
extravagance  of  friendship.  I  rather  like  it.  I  shall 
make  believe  it  is  all  true  till  to-morrow  ;  and  even 
then  let  in  the  light  upon  it  very  cautiously,  the  illu- 
sion of  being  somebody  is  so  sweet.  A  man's  seven- 
tieth birthday  is  no  time  to  deny  or  even  distrust 
anything  said  in  his  praise.  It  is  wiser  to  swallow  it 
all.  It  is  probably  his  last  chance. 


198  Autobiography 

"'And,  now,  what  shall  I  say  for  myself?  It  would 
be  safer  to  hide  behind  your  fragrant  screen  of  compli- 
ments and  say  nothing.  But  I  am  seventy,  the  hero  of 
the  evening ;  and,  though  indebted  to  Father  Time  for 
all  these  honors,  I  must  speak. 

'"As  nothing  is  set  down  to  egotism  after  three- 
score and  ten,  and  as  we  are  here  in  a  free-and-easy, 
pleasant-fellowship  sort  of  way,  I  think  I  will  venture 
to  tell  you  a  little  of  my  early  life,  and  how  it  was, 
with  so  poor  an  outfit,  I  squeezed  into  the  pulpit.  The 
strong  contrast  of  my  early  life  with  the  early  lives 
of  most  of  those  who  are  in  the  ministry  may  give 
some  interest  to  the  simple  story  it  would  not  other- 
wise have.' " 

Then  follows  the  story  of  his  early  life  and  struggles, 
told  substantially  as  in  this  Autobiography,  and  closing 
as  follows :  — 

" '  Dull  and  commonplace  as  my  ministry  may  have 
seemed  to  others,  and  little  as  there  is  to  show  for  it 
anywhere,  I  have  nevertheless  enjoyed  it  so  completely 
that,  could  I  live  my  life  over  again,  I  should  not  hesi- 
tate for  a  moment  what  profession  to  choose.  It  would 
be  the  ministry.  It  would  be  the  Christian  ministry. 
It  never  seemed  grander,  more  glorious,  or  more  hope- 
ful than  now.  But  I  should  want  to  be  better  prepared 
for  it.  As  there  are  no  gifts,  so  there  is  no  culture 
too  rich  to  be  laid  on  its  altars.  I  wonder  that  more 
young  men  are  not  drawn  to  the  ever-growing,  ever- 
deepening,  ever-widening,  ever  more  and  more  attrac- 
tive ministry  of  redeeming  love.  I  thank  God  afresh 
on  this  my  seventieth  birthday  that  I  have  been  per- 
mitted to  serve  even  as  a  drop  in  this  mighty  tide 


Seventy  199 

of  Christian  influence,  so  manifestly  lifted  by  the 
heavenly  orbs  which,  spite  of  all  the  sediment  of  error 
and  superstition  mingling  with  it,  are  steadily  lifting 
the  world  to  a  higher  life,  and  bearing  it  on  its  heaven- 
appointed  destiny. 

"  '  Dear  friends,  again  I  thank  you  for  this  delightful 
occasion.  You  will  never  know  how  good  a  thing  it  is 
to  be  seventy  till  you  get  there.  And,  when  you  do, 
may  you  all  have  as  true  friends  to  congratulate  you 
and  as  many  blessings  to  move  your  hearts  with  grati- 
tude to  God  as  I  have  to-night!' 

"After  Mr.  Tilden  had  closed,  during  a  moment's 
pause  in  the  exercises,  Mr.  Hale  rose  and  said,  '  I 
think  we  shall  agree  that  the  world  has  not  been  wrong 
for  eighteen  centuries  and  a  half  in  thinking  that  a 
carpenter's  shop  and  a  fishing  boat  are  the  best  schools 
for  apostleship  and  ministry.' 

"  The  congregation  then  united  in  the  hymn, — 

"  '  Press  on,  press  on,  ye  sons  of  light,' 

which  went  gloriously  to  the  tune  of  '  Missionary 
Chant.' 

"All  present  were  then  invited  to  a  social  tea  in  the 
vestry  below,  which  was  filled  with  a  happy  throng  of 
people,  who,  as  they  greeted  each  other,  were  borne 
along  by  the  current  to  extend  their  congratulations 
in  person  to  Mr.  Tilden,  who  received  their  cordial 
greetings  and  good  wishes  as  they  passed  on. 

"The  long  table  was  richly  decorated  with  elegant 
flower-pieces  and  bouquets, —  the  tribute  of  kind  friends 
for  the  occasion, —  and  bountifully  spread  with  refresh- 
ments from  the  homes  of  the  parishioners  and  friends. 


2OO  Autobiography 

Back  of  the  platform  where  Mr.  Tilden  stood  to  wel- 
come his  friends  was  his  picture,  wreathed  with  smilax, 
and  on  either  side,  in  figures  wrought  with  flowers, 

1811.  1881. 

"  During  the  collation  the  delightful  fellowship  con- 
tinued. Friends  anchored  side  by  side  in  snug  har- 
bors for  happy  chat,  or  sailed  round  in  small  fleets,  hail- 
ing old  acquaintances,  and  signalling  some  word  of 
good  cheer  in  keeping  with  the  happy  spirit  of  the 
evening. 

"At  last  the  time  came  for  saying  'good-night' ;  and 
the  large  company  retired  to  happy  dreams." 

The  following  letter  from  Dr.  H.  O.  Stone,  of  Fram- 
ingham,  a  former  parishioner  of  Concord,  N.H.,  was  re- 
ceived too  late  to  be  read  at  the  birthday  part)'  :  — 

Dear  Friends  of  our  Beloved  Septuagenarian, —  I  will  address 
you  to  the  exclusion  of  the  latter,  lest  his  modesty  be  offended  by 
the  plain,  unvarnished  tale  unfolded. 

In  the  year  1844,  not  long  after  Mr.  Tilden's  settlement  over 
the  Unitarian  society  in  Concord,  N.H.,  I  became  one  of  his 
parishioners,  listening  to  his  sermons,  enjoying  his  society  and 
friendship,  and  blessed  by  his  spiritual  ministrations.  During 
the  years  of  his  service  there  anti-slavery  and  the  kindred  re- 
forms of  peace  and  temperance  were  discussed  as  never  before. 
Filled  with  the  spirit  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and  yearning  with  his 
whole  soul  to  preach  the  "glad  tidings  of  deliverance  to  the  cap- 
tives "  and  oneness  with  the  Father,  Mr.  Tilden  faithfully  delivered 
the  message  impressed  upon  his  conscience  and  reason. 

One  or  two  incidents  of  his  career  there  will  indicate  his  spirit 
and  conduct. 

At  that  time  Stephen  S.  Foster,  who,  by  his  fearless  and  per- 
sistent rebukes  of  Church  and  State  for  their  complicity  with 
slavery,  had  drawn  upon  himself  the  hatred  and  wrath  of  the 


Seventy  20 1 

pro-slavery  elements  of  society,  was  lecturing  in  New  Hampshire. 
He  was  feared  and  denounced  by  recreant  ministers  and  time- 
serving politicians.  To  fellowship  him  was  to  incur  the  displeas- 
ure of  these  classes.  This  sturdy  modern  prophet  one  summer 
Sunday  went  to  hear  our  "son  of  a  carpenter"  preach.  The  ser- 
vices were  conducted  with  the  serene  consciousness  of  the  Father 
of  all,  habitual  to  the  preacher;  and  his  convictions  of  human  re- 
sponsibility and  duty  were  uttered  with  his  usual  impressive  ear- 
nestness. In  his  sermon,  he  alluded  to  slavery  in  unmistakable 
terms,  and  at  its  close,  looking  straight  at  Stephen  Foster,  said, 
"  I  see  one  in  the  audience  whose  zeal  and  labors  in  the  anti- 
slavery  cause  are  well  known :  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  a  word 
from  him";  thus  vindicating  the  freedom  of  the  gospel  he 
preached,  the  freedom  of  the  pulpit  he  stood  in,  and  contrasting 
them  with  the  pro-slavery  churches  who  had  spurned  Stephen 
and  dragged  him  out  of  their  meeting-houses  with  violence.  He, 
all  unused  to  having  the  courtesy  of  free  speech  tendered  him, 
rose  and  expressed  the  satisfaction  he  had  received  in  listening  to 
the  sermon,  and  said  he  had  nothing  to  add. 

In  those  days  it  required  the  courage  of  a  hero  to  speak  for 
the  slave,  especially  when  persistency  in  demanding  for  him  free- 
dom as  his  birthright  and  as  the  duty  of  slaveholders  and  their 
northern  accomplices,  aroused  the  fears  of  the  timid,  lest  the 
agitation  should  break  in  two  the  organizations  which  by  some 
persons  were  considered  of  more  value  than  human  liberty.  It 
was  in  such  a  crisis  that  spiritual  wisdom  and  celestial  insight 
guided  our  pastor  and  lifted  him  to  a  plane  of  thought  and  action 
where  the  fear  of  man  is  never  a  snare,  but  trust  in  the  infinite 
God  enters  the  soul  like  a  strengthening  angel. 

Well  do  I  remember  the  occasion  when,  after  one  of  his  ear- 
nest rebukes  of  the  great  national  sin  and  stirring  appeals  to  each 
individual  conscience,  some  who  loved  the  old  Unitarian  Church 
trembled  as  if  an  earthquake  had  unsettled  its  foundations.  It 
was  whispered :  "  Such  preaching  will  not  do.  We  shall  go  to 
ruin."  Not  so  thought  our  preacher.  The  very  next  Sunday  he 
discoursed  from  the  text,  "  Stand  fast,  in  nothing  terrified,"  in 
which  he  reviewed  the  whole  ground,  in  no  defiant  spirit,  but  in 
a  lofty  strain  of  moral  and  religious  enthusiasm,  reassuring  the 


2O2  Autobiography 

timid  and  strengthening  the  faltering,  and  so  set  the  old  Unitarian 
Church  upon  the  rock  of  eternal  justice. 

When  the  encroachment  of  the  slave  power  culminated  in  the 
Mexican  War  waged  for  the  extension  of  slavery,  an  impetus  was 
given  to  the  cause  of  "peace"  which  resulted  in  the  agitation  of 
that  reform  all  over  the  North.  Here,  too,  the  pupil  of  May  was 
not  behind  his  teacher.  Without  waiting  for  a  fast-day  privilege, 
he  spoke  from  the  pulpit,  in  small  gatherings  outside,  and  in  con- 
ventions. 

At  this  period  there  was  the  coincidence  in  Concord  on  the 
same  day  of  a  Peace  Convention  and  an  assembly  of  New  Hamp- 
shire volunteers  on  their  way  to  the  seat  of  war.  Mr.  Tilden, 
with  Adin  Ballou,  looked  in  at  the  war  party.  Some  of  the 
speakers  referred  to  Mr.  Tilden's  well-known  opinions  of  war 
so  pointedly  and  in  such  scornful  terms  that  he  felt  called  upon 
to  reply.  He  rose  with  a  countenance  pallid  with  emotion,  and 
in  a  calm  and  firm  voice  spoke  to  the  assembly  of  the  gospel  of 
peace  as  presented  by  Jesus  in  the  New  Testament.  He  told 
them  that  it  was  his  duty  as  a  Christian  minister  to  preach  that 
gospel,  and  they  knew  that  the  work  they  were  entering  upon  was 
directly  opposed  to  the  spirit  and  teaching  of  Jesus.  He  was 
heard  in  silence.  It  seemed  as  if  an  angel  had  hushed  the  air 
that  the  sweet  tones  of  peace  might  enter  the  ears  of  that  armed 
multitude.  Our  preacher  had  conquered  for  the  time  an  army 
with  muskets  and  banners  by  the  sword  of  the  spirit.  New 
Hampshire's  quota  marched  out  of  the  capital  with  this  benison 
ringing  in  their  ears. 

But  time  will  not  permit  me  to  dwell  further  upon  the  fidelity 
of  our  friend  in  every  field  of  labor  during  his  brief  ministry  in 
Concord.  He  was  as  true  in  the  temperance  movement  as  in 
other  reforms,  enlightening  public  sentiment  and  uplifting  the 
downfallen. 

The  same  spiritual  graces,  social  qualities,  and  tender  sym- 
pathies, the  same  ringing  laugh,  hearty  pressure  of  the  hand, 
and  words  of  cheer,  the  same  trustful  prayers  uplifting  afflicted 
souls,  endeared  him  then  as  now  to  all  who  came  within  his  influ- 
ence. Dear  friends,  you  know  all  this  better  than  any  words  can 
express. 


Seventy  203 

Now,  my  dear  brother,  come  back  within  the  hearing  of  my 
voice,  while  I  thank  God  for  all  your  ministry  in  Concord  did  for 
me,  and  for  all  your  friendship  has  done  and  is  still  doing.  The 
light  which  surrounds  the  Infinite  Spirit  can  alone  reveal  it  in  its 
fulness.  In  that  light  may  we  walk  to  the  end  of  time,  and  be- 
yond enlarge  and  purify  the  affection  which  death  cannot  oblit- 
erate ! 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

HENRY  ORNE  STONE. 


XX. 
COMMUNION    SERVICE. 

MR.  TILDEN  had  long  been  dissatisfied  with  the  small 
number  of  our  worshipping  congregations  who  were 
interested  in  the  communion  service. 

As  one  who  loved  the  service  and  longed  to  see  it 
lifted  out  of  "the  letter  which  killeth  "  into  "the  spirit 
which  giveth  life,"  he  was  continually  asking  himself, 
"What  shall  be  done  with  our  communion  service? 
What  can  be  done  to  awaken  a  rational  and  intelligent 
interest  in  it  ?  Why  is  it  that  some  of  the  best,  or,  if 
not  the  best,  just  as  good  and  just  as  Christian  men 
and  women  as  any  in  the  congregation,  never  partake 
of  the  symbols  ?  They  believe  in  Jesus  just  as  trulyt 
thank  God  for  his  mission  just  as  deeply,  desire  his 
spirit  just  as  earnestly,  and  have  the  love  of  God  and 
man  at  heart  just  as  sincerely.  Why,  then,  do  they 
never  stay  to  the  commemorative  rite  ?  or,  if  they  stay, 
never  partake  ? " 

He  says  :  "  It  is  a  serious  matter,  especially  with  such 
ministers  as  believe  in  the  rite,  and  long  to  see  it  ob- 
served, not  by  a  select  few,  but  by  the  whole  congrega- 
tion. 

"  Possibly,  with  some  other  method  of  administration, 
the  observance  may  be  made  to  seem  more  simple  and 
natural,  and  so  win  the  favor  of  those  who  have  hitherto 
stood  aloof  from  it. 


Communion  Service  205 

"Is  there  any  such  method  ?  We  think  there  is.  Dr. 
Furness,  of  Philadelphia,  was  the  first,  as  far  as  we 
know,  to  suggest  and  adopt  it.  He  proposed  to  his 
church  that  the  symbolic  bread  and  wine  should  not  be 
distributed,  but  stand  on  the  table  to  speak  through 
the  eye  to  the  heart,  of  the  self-sacrificing  love  of  Him 
who  gave  himself  for  the  world's  uplifting,  the  minister 
interpreting  their  significance. 

"  No  one  who  knew  Dr.  Furness  could  doubt  for  a  mo- 
ment his  reverence  for  Jesus,  or  his  love  of  the  wonder- 
ful character  he  had  made  the  study  of  his  life.  But  it 
was  a  change  ;  and  changes,  however  rational  and  need- 
ful, always  come  slowly.  One  who  said  that,  if  he 
wished  to  give  up  the  communion,  he  thought  this  a 
graceful  way  of  doing  it,  fairly  expressed,  perhaps,  the 
common  feeling  with  which  the  new  method  was  re- 
ceived. But  to  me  it  seemed  a  step  up  out  of  the  letter 
into  the  spirit,  and  I  hailed  it  with  joy.  I  saw  in  it  the 
solution  of  many  of  our  difficulties.  It  settled  forever 
the  temperance  question,  so  far  as  the  communion  was 
concerned.  We  could  still  use  wine  as  a  symbol,  if  we 
used  it  as  a  symbol  only.  All  could  then  participate 
in  the  service  without  any  misgivings,  just  as  all  may 
look  upon  the  cross,  and  think  their  own  thoughts  of 
its  meaning  and  of  Him  who  died  thereon.  Parents 
and  children  could  now  come  together,  and  none  would 
be  disturbed  by  having  the  symbols  offered  to  him, 
when  he  desired  only  the  bread  and  wine  of  devout 
thought.  All,  absolutely  all,  of  every  shade  of  Christian 
faith,  could  now  together  think  of  Jesus,  and  thank  God 
afresh  for  his  living  and  dying  love  for  man. 

"  Fully  believing  that  this  method  was  simpler,  more 


206  Autobiography 

natural  and  rational  than  the  old,  we  have  adopted  it, 
not  without  some  dissenting  views,  of  course  ;  for  old 
associations  are  strong,  and  we  seldom  pass  without  a 
protest  of  the  feelings,  at  least,  from  the  old  to  the 
new,  even  when  reason  tells  us  that  the  new  is  better. 

"But,  having  passed,  I  am  more  and  more  gratified 
with  the  new  method.  The  expressions  of  satisfaction 
that  came  to  me  after  the  first  use  of  the  symbols,  as 
symbols  only,  with  the  whole  congregation  as  spiritual 
communicants,  filled  me  with  a  sweet  assurance  that 
I  was  right  in  my  hopes.  I  found  that  many  felt  as 
I  had  often  done,  that  the  mere  eating  and  drinking,  or 
rather  the  making  believe  eat  and  drink, —  for  to  that 
the  old  method  is  reduced, —  was  no  aid,  but  a  hin- 
drance, to  the  spiritual  enjoyment  of  the  service.  What 
made  the  service  quickening  and  helpful  was  not  the 
unnatural  attempt  at  eating  and  drinking  with  no  view 
to  physical  nourishment,  but  the  thought  waked,  the 
aspirations  roused,  by  the  contemplation  of  the  match- 
less One.  With  tears  on  his  cheek,  one  man  told  me 
after  that  service  that  he  had  never  before  felt  that  he 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  rite  or  the  rite  anything  to 
do  with  him.  Now  he  began  to_/iWits  meaning. 

"  It  should  be  said,  however,  that  some  of  our  people 
would  still  prefer  the  old  way,  with  all  its  disadvantages 
and  limitations.  But,  as  the  new  method  has  the  many 
advantages  already  named,  it  has  been  adopted  in  faith 
and  hope  of  greater  good  to  a  much  larger  number 
than  was  ever  reached  in  the  old  method. 

"The  New  South  Free  Church,  therefore,  instead 
of  having  'given  up  the  communion,'  as  some  have 
intimated,  has  made  this  change  in  the  sincere  desire 


Communion  Service  207 

to  make  more  of  the  service,  not  less  ;  to  free  it  from 
what  to  many  seems  artificial,  and  open  alike  to  parents 
and  children,  old  and  young,  professors  and  non-pro- 
fessors, even  as  many  as  ever  think  of  Jesus  with  grati- 
tude or  feel  the  shadow  of  a  desire  for  more  of  his  spirit 
of  self-sacrificing  love. 

"Four  times  in  a  year  —  at  Christmas,  Easter,  Whit- 
Sunday,  All  Saints'  and  All  Souls'  —  we  keep  our  feast 
of  commemoration.  We  try  to  make  these  occasions 
great  days  for  our  little  church, —  days  of  reverent  joy 
and  gladness,  not  for  a  few,  but  for  all,  the  children's 
voices  adding  a  note  of  gladness  to  our  sacred  songs. 
We  give  our  own  interpretation  to  these  old  days,  so 
long  held  sacred  by  the  Church,  of  which,  though  dis- 
owned, we  claim  to  be  a  part,  however  small, —  a  twig, 
if  not  a  branch  of  the  living  vine, —  and  would  keep 
them  sacred  to  the  great  truths  they  stand  for,  and  to 
the  memory  of  Him  whose  name  we  honor,  whose  spirit 
we  crave,  and  in  whose  blessed  work  of  redeeming  love 
we  would  in  some  humble  measure  share." 

The  order  of  service  on  the  Sundays  when  the  com- 
memorative rite  was  observed  was  as  follows  :  — 

Organ  Voluntary. 
Sentence  and  Prayer. 

Hymn. 
Scripture.     Prayer. 

Hymn. 
Address  (at  the  table). 

Hymn. 

Scripture  and  Prayer. 
Responsive  Service. 

The  congregation  being  seated,  the  minister,  break- 
ing the  bread,  will  say  :  — 


2o8  Autobiography 

"When  Jesus  broke  the  bread  in  the  upper  chamber, 
just  before  his  crucifixion,  he  said,  'This  is  my  body, 
broken  for  you.'  And,  when  he  took  the  cup,  'This 
is  the  New  Testament  in  my  blood,  shed  for  you.' 
It  is  significant  that,  while  the  twelve  who  reclined 
with  him  at  the  table  ate  and  drank,  Jesus  himself 
refused  the  cup,  saying :  '  I  will  drink  no  more  of  the 
fruit  of  the  vine  until  that  day  when  I  drink  it  new 
with  you  in  the  kingdom  of  God.' 

"  We  use  these  symbols  now  as  symbols  only,  as 
Jesus  used  the  wine,  of  which  he  did  not  drink.  This 
bread  is  only  bread,  this  wine  is  only  wine ;  and,  at 
best,  it  could  only  nourish  the  body.  To  feed  on  these 
literally  'is  not  to  eat  the  Lord's  Supper.'  We  would 
discern  the  real  presence  in  these  symbols,  and  nourish 
our  souls  on  that.  Through  this  veil  of  material  things 
we  would  commune  with  things  eternal.  We  would  feed 
on  that  living  bread  which  came  down  from  heaven  in 
Christ,  and  which  our  Father  is  continually  giving  us. 
We  would  drink  of  the  heavenly  wine  of  self-sacrificing 
love  for  God  and  men,  and  all  things  true  and  good, 
and  so  remember  Jesus  as  to  enter  more  fully  into  his 
spirit,  his  Sonship,  and  his  great  work  of  Redeeming 
Love. 

"  And  now,  that  each  one  may  have  an  opportunity  to 
think  his  own  thought,  pray  his  own  prayer,  question 
his  own  soul,  commune  with  his  own  heart,  and  be  still, 
we  will  unite  in  a  season  of  silence."  This  silence  is 
broken  by  the  minister,  when  all  unite  in  chanting  the 
Lord's  Prayer.  Benediction. 

Mr.  Tilden  never  lost  his  love  for  and  his  strong  in- 
terest in  this  method  of  observing  the  commemorative 


Communion  Service  209 

rite.  In  a  lecture  to  the  students  of  the  Meadville 
Theological  School  he  says  :  "  My  counsel  is,  therefore, 
to  you  who  are  studying  for  the  ministry  of  our  liberal 
faith,  do  not  attempt  this  new  method  unless  you  be- 
lieve in  it, —  thoroughly  believe  in  it.  And,  when  you 
do,  you  will  make  your  people  believe  in  it ;  and  you 
and  they,  if  I  may  judge  from  my  own  experience,  will 
enjoy  it  as  never  before. 

"  Dr.  Furness's  successor,  Joseph  May,  did  not  believe 
in  it,  and  so  went  back  to  the  old  method.  My  succes- 
sor in  Boston  has  done  the  same.  This  is  not  at  all 
discouraging  to  one  who  is  converted  to  the  new  method. 
It  is  just  what  every  change  has  to  contend  with,  tem- 
porary relapse  into  the  old  ways.  It  is  a  reflex  wave, 
which  recedes  for  the  time,  while  the  ocean  tide  is  all 
the  time  rising. 

"  For  one,  I  believe  the  new  method  is  destined  to 
rise.  I  think  it  is  linked  with  the  heavenly  orbs.  I  be- 
lieve no  crowned  Canute  of  ecclesiasticism  can  order  il 
back.  It  will  roll  in  by  and  by  and  cover  our  Unitarian 
flats,  and  float  our  grounded  barges  and  refresh  us  with  a 
new  wave  from  that  eternal  sea  of  spiritual  life  that  is 
ever  lifting  us  out  of  the  bondage  of  the  letter  into  the 
freedom  of  the  spirit. 

"Whether  this  method  be  widely  adopted  in  our  day 
or  not,  I  feel  a  strong  assurance  that  it  will  more  and 
more  prevail  in  our  liberal  Church.  It  was  born  of  us ! 
born  of  the  head  and  heart  of  one  of  the  truest  lovers 
and  most  reverential  students  of  Jesus  our  body  has 
ever  produced.  It  fits  our  thought.  It  is  spiritual.  It 
shows  the  rational  meaning  of  the  rite,  and  sweeps 
away  all  the  old  objections  to  its  general  observance. 


2 1  o  A  ntobiography 

"  Whatever  a  few  may  say  against  what  they  call  a 
destructive  innovation,  just  as  the  Catholics  regarded 
the  restoration  of  the  rite  to  primitive  simplicity  by 
Zwingli  as  dangerous  and  destructive,  still  if  we  fully 
believe  that  the  new  method  is  better  than  the  old, 
should  we  not,  in  the  spirit  of  Zwingli,  make  one 
more  change  in  this  rite  of  the  Church  that  has 
passed  through  so  many,  and  cut  it  clear  of  all  mate- 
rialism, making  it  a  purely  symbolic  and  spiritual  com- 
memoration ? 

"I  should  be  proud  to  belong  to  a  church  that  would 
venture  to  take  this  step,  and  glad  and  grateful  to  be 
an  instrument,  however  humble,  in  bringing  about  a 
consummation  so  devoutly  to  be  wished." 


XXL 

END  OF  BOSTON  MINISTRY. 

1883-1884. 

RESIGNATION. —  FAREWELL  SERMON. —  CHARGE  TO  REV. 
G.  H.  YOUNG. 

MAY  20,  1883,  Mr.  Tilden,  at  the  close  of  his  ser- 
mon Sunday  morning,  read  the  following  letter,  which 
he  told  his  people  he  had  sent  to  the  Executive  Com- 
mittee of  the  Benevolent  Fraternity  of  Churches  :  — 

BOSTON,  May  9,  1883. 

Gentlemen, —  I  am  seventy-two  years  old  to-day.  I  am  also  in 
the  seventeenth  year  of  my  pastorate  of  the  New  South  Free 
Church.  Putting  the  two  together,  and  remembering  that  years 
tell  in  more  than  one  sense,  I  herewith  send  in  my  resignation  of 
the  office  I  have  so  long  held,  to  take  place  at  the  expiration  of 
the  present  year,  Dec.  31,  1883. 

I  make  this  communication  thus  early  that  you  may  have  abun- 
dant time  to  select  the  best  man  that  can  be  obtained  to  continue 
the  work. 

I  do  not  propose  to  withdraw  from  the  ministry,  which  I  love  as 
well  as  ever ;  for,  though  an  old  man,  I  hope  to  do  some  further 
service  in  some  lighter  field  of  labor.  But  I  am  beginning  to  find 
the  multiform  duties  of  this  position,  which  are  more  arduous  and 
constant  than  the  pastorate  of  an  ordinary  church,  rather  too  much 
for  my  strength.  And,  besides  this,  I  have  a  growing  conviction 
that  a  new  voice  and  a  fresh  hand,  especially  the  voice  and  hand 
of  a  younger  man,  would  do  more  and  better  service  than  I  am 
now  able  to  do.  I  am  happy  to  say  that  no  lisp  from  any  one  of 
your  committee,  or  any  delegate  of  the  Fraternity,  or  any  member 


212  A  utobiography 

of  our  Free  Church,  has  ever  come  to  me  with  the  slightest  sug- 
gestion of  a  wish  that  I  should  retire.  My  resignation  comes 
solely  from  my  own  conviction  that  the  time  has  come. 

But  I  cannot  close  this  note  without  most  cordially  thanking 
you,  gentlemen  of  the  committee,  and  all  who  have  preceded  you 
during  my  pastorate,  for  the  uniform  kindness  you  and  they  have 
extended  to  me  during  my  long  and  pleasant  ministry. 

That  God  may  continue  to  bless  you  in  the  great  and  good 
work  you  have  in  charge,  and  guide  you  to  a  wise  choice  in  filling 
the  vacancy  at  the  close  of  the  year,  is  the  heart's  desire  of 

Yours  truly, 

W.  P.  TILDEN. 

His  last  sermon  as  pastor  of  the  New  South  Free 
Church  was  given  Dec.  30,  1883,  in  which  he  says,  "  I 
choose  a  text  that  has  not  a  drop  of  sadness  in  it,— 
that  inspiring  word  of  Paul  to  his  church  at  Philippi, 
'Rejoice  in  the  Lord  alway,  and  again  I  say,  Re- 
joice.' 

"We  will  shelter  ourselves  this  morning  under  the 
brave  words.  Then,  if  we  are  tempted  to  sadness,  we 
will  let  in  the  gladness  as  well  we  may ;  for  surely  a 
seventeen  years'  ministry,  with  trials  so  few  and  bless- 
ings so  many,  must  hold  in  its  wide  arms  abundant 
cause  for  rejoicing  in  the  Lord  again,  and  yet  again. 

"  Seventeen  years  is  a  long  time  when  it  is  front  of  us, 
and  we  look  expectantly  along  its  waving  and  uncertain 
lines.  But  when  we  have  passed  over  and  through, 
and  have  left  them  behind,  they  dwindle  into  a  span, 
and  seem  almost  as  shadowy  as  a  remembered 
dream.  .  .  . 

"  But  we  are  happy  to-day  in  looking  forward  as  well 
as  backward, —  happy  in  having  with  us  not  only  the 
angel  of  memory  with  the  closed  volume,  but  the  angel 


End  of  Boston  Ministry  2 1 3 

of  hope  also,  with  her  open  book,  pointing  her  prophetic 
finger  to  the  new  ministry  with  which  the  new  year 
will  open." 

After  a  retrospective  view  of  the  work  of  these  years 
he  says  :  — 

"And  now,  my  dear  friends  and  parishioners,  what 
shall  I  say  in  view  of  all  your  kindness  and  forbear- 
ance, your  lenient  judgment  and  patient  listening, — 
some  of  you  for  the  whole  term  of  my  pastorate  and 
others  for  a  shorter  time,  but  just  as  kindly  ?  I  might 
as  well  say  nothing,  and  let  your  own  hearts  interpret 
the  gratitude  I  feel  for  all  your  many  kindnesses.  I 
shall  bear  away  with  me  also  a  sweet  assurance  of  your 
real  friendship  and  best  wishes,  given  in  so  many  ways, 
as  one  of  the  evidences  that  my  ministry  has  not  been 
in  vain.  .  .  . 

"  I  count  it  a  most  felicitous  arrangement  that  my 
successor,  Rev.  George  H.  Young,  is  to  be  installed  on 
the  evening  of  this  my  last  Sunday  with  you,  giving 
me  the  privilege  of  joining  with  you  all  in  his  inaugura- 
tion, not  leaving  you  a  single  hour  without  a  minister, 
his  work  beginning  the  very  moment  mine  will  end, 
when,  at  the  same  stroke  of  the  time,  the  old  year  and 
the  old  ministry  are  rung  out  as  the  new  year  and  the 
new  ministry  are  rung  in. 

"  To  make  this  ministry  a  useful  and  a  happy  one, 
something  else  will  be  necessary  besides  his  devo- 
tion to  his  work, —  your  devotion  to  your  work ;  for 
he  comes  not  to  do  your  work  for  you,  but  to  help  you 
in  doing  it  for  yourselves,  that  you  all,  working  together 
as  a  band  of  Christian  believers,  may  not  only  continue 
the  work  of  a  broad,  free  church  we  have  begun,  but 


214  -^  utobiography 

carry  it  forward  and  lift  it  higher  and  strike  its  roots 
deeper  until,  through  God's  blessing,  the  fruits  of  Chris- 
tian life  will  grow  in  such  sweet  clusters  that  all  will 
know  without  asking  that  this  is  a  living  branch  of  the 
living  vine. 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  great  work  for  you  to  do  here,  if  with 
united  hearts  and  willing  hands  you  all  take  hold  and 
help  your  new  minister  to  do  it  !  He  can  do  nothing 
alone;  but,  with  God's  grace  —  never  withheld  —  and 
your  cordial  co-working,  you  and  he  together  can  do  all 
things, —  all  things  that  Heaven  requires, —  and  that 
will  be  a  work  large  enough  to  make  the  very  angels 
long  to  share  it  with  you. 

"  I  hear  it  whispered  that  one  and  another  are  think- 
ing of  leaving  when  I  go.  That  is  the  worst  compli- 
ment you  can  pay  to  my  preaching.  Go  away  because 
I  go !  Why,  if  you  have  loved  the  little  church  of  our 
liberal  faith,  where  we  have  worshipped  and  worked 
together  so  long,  if  you  have  rejoiced  in  its  Christian 
hospitality, —  rejoiced  that  here  outward  and  artificial 
distinctions  are  cast  out,  and  all  invited  to  come  as  the 
equal  children  of  a  common  Father  in  a  faith  as  bright 
as  Christ's  own,  and  a  spirit  of  humanity  like  that 
which  led  him  to  go  about  doing  good, —  then  my  going 
only  because  I  feel  myself  not  fully  equal  to  all  the 
work  required  would  seem  to  be  a  new  reason  for  your 
staying  to  strengthen  the  hands  and  encourage  the 
heart  of  him  who  comes  to  give  to  the  cause  here  the 
freshness  of  his  manliest  powers.  .  .  . 

"  If  you  let  the  thought  of  usefulness  as  well  as  pleas- 
ure enter  into  the  question,  could  you  do  as  much  good 
anywhere  else  ?  No  :  stay,  all  of  you  stay,  cheering 


End  of  Boston  Ministry  215 

the  new  minister  with  your  hearty  and  cordial  co-opera- 
tion and  cheering  also  the  heart  of  the  old  minister, 
when  he  is  away,  with  the  glad  tidings  that  the  church 
of  his  love  and  prayer  is  rising  through  your  united 
labors  into  a  higher  Christian  life  and  broadening  its 
field  of  Christian  usefulness." 

In  his  charge  to  the  new  pastor  the  same  evening  he 
says  :  "  Take  a  kindly  and  tender  care  of  my  little  flock. 
I  have  been  with  them  in  their  joys  and  sorrows,  hopes 
and  fears  ;  and  now  I  am  about  to  leave  them  I  feel  very 
solicitous  for  their  real  religious  welfare.  Somehow, 
my  own  shortcomings  loom  up  before  me  in  such  for- 
midable shape  that  I  feel  like  charging  you  to  shun  all 
my  faults  and  bring  all  your  own  virtues  to  aid  you  in 
taking  the  tenderest  care  of  them.  You  are  to  be 
their  spiritual  helper,  their  religious  friend.  You  are 
to  be  a  counsellor  to  the  young,  a  brother  to  those  in 
the  prime  of  life,  a  son  on  whom  the  aged  may  lean 
with  confidence  and  trust. 

"  But  remember  that  in  this  free  church,  as  in  other 
churches,  you  must  give  your  best  strength  to  your 
pulpit  sermons.  There  is  no  church  in  Boston  where 
a  good,  stirring,  earnest  Christian  sermon  will  be  more 
highly  appreciated  than  here.  You  come  with  a  large 
stock  of  old  sermons  :  I  charge  you  to  use  them  spar- 
ingly. A  new  sermon  is  better  than  an  old  one,  if  it 
isn't  so  good.  Somehow,  our  sermons,  like  ourselves, 
bear  unmistakable  signs  of  the  year  of  our  Lord  in  which 
they  were  born.  They  may  have  been  good  in  their 
day,  but  the  day  is  past,  and  to  lean  on  them  is  fatal. 
Saul,  in  his  great  strait,  fell  forward  on  his  sword,  and 
committed  suicide  that  way.  It  was  common  among 


2 1 6  A  utobiography 

old  warriors.  But  many  a  minister  from  middle  life  on 
has  committed  suicide  by  falling  back  on  his  old  ser- 
mons. It  is  an  easy  death,  to  be  sure  ;  for  the  old 
sermons  have  seldom  point  enough  to  hurt,  but  the 
result  is  just  as  sure  as  the  old  method.  As  you  would 
live,  then,  and  have  your  people  feel  the  throbbing  of 
your  fresh  life,  keep  studying,  keep  thinking,  keep 
writing. 

"And  I  charge  you  to  do  your  best  every  time. 
Don't  save  your  great  thoughts  for  great  occasions. 
Fresh  thoughts,  like  fresh  peaches,  should  be  used  the 
day  they  drop.  Keep  them  for  a  great  party,  and  they 
spoil.  One  of  the  most  successful  ministers  we  have 
ever  had  in  our  liberal  faith  said  to  me  that  he  told 
his  people  all  he  knew  every  Sunday.  He  emptied 
himself,  and  left  it  to  the  next  week  to  fill  up.  Of 
course,  it  was  playful  exaggeration,  for  it  was  Dr.  Bel- 
lows who  said  it ;  but  there  was  a  great  truth  in  the 
playfulness.  The  stream  must  be  kept  running  if  the 
water  is  to  be  kept  pure. 

"  Look  aloft,  open  your  soul  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  follow 
the  highest  light,  and  so  by  pureness,  by  knowledge, 
by  long-suffering,  by  kindness,  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  by 
love  unfeigned,  by  the  word  of  truth,  by  the  power  of 
God,  by  the  armor  of  righteousness  on  the  right  hand 
and  on  the  left,  do  the  work  of  an  evangelist,  and  make 
full  proof  of  your  ministry  !  " 


XXII. 

ROWEN. 

1884. 

SERMON  ON   OLD  AGE. —  MEADVILLE. —  RED  COTTAGE. —  INVI- 
TATION  TO    RETURN    TO    MEADVILLE. —  FREDERICK    DOUG- 

LASS. —  LETTER  FROM  DR.  LIVERMORE  IN  "  REGISTER." 

THE  book  in  which  he  kept  the  record  of  his  preach- 
ing after  this  date  was  headed  "  Rowen." 

In  a  sermon  on  "  Old  Age,"  he  said  :  "  I  wish  to 
emphasize  the  healthiness  to  mind  and  heart,  too,  of 
regular  work  of  hand  or  brain.  It  does  more  than  we 
know  to  keep  the  faculties  bright  and  the  mind  actively 
interested  in  the  world  of  thought  and  duty  in  the 
midst  of  which  we  live.  It  vitalizes  the  blood  in  brain 
and  limbs.  It  helps  to  make  old  age  happy  and  useful. 
Active  minds  under  healthy  pressure  often  shine  the 
brightest  after  the  mid-day  of  life,  as  the  sun  in  the 
heavens  often  pours  out  its  warmest  rays  after  it  has 
passed  the  meridian.  Illustrations  of  this  are  seen 
everywhere.  Every  city  and  town  and  neighborhood 
boasts  its  old  persons  who  have  kept  on  ripening  till 
the  angel  of  the  harvest  came.  .  .  . 

"Every  time  we  meet  an  old  friend,  after  a  few 
years  of  absence,  we  see  the  marks  left  on  face  and 
form  by  the  footfall  of  time;  and  how  gently  and 
gradually  dear  Mother  Nature  lays  her  white  crown 


2 1 8  A  utobiography 

upon  our  heads  or  draws  new  lines  on  the  face, —  so 
gently  and  gradually  that  we  never  know  just  when  it 
is  done,  any  more  than  the  oak  knows  just  when 
its  leaves  are  changed,  or  the  golden  grain  when  the 
husks  are  bleached." 

He  was  unconsciously  drawing  his  own  portrait  in 
these  words,  and  also  giving  the  key  to  his  perpetual 
youth. 

Mr.  Tilden,  believing  that  the  people  would  more 
readily  become  attached  to  the  new  minister  in  the 
absence  of  the  old  one,  and  consequently  the  best  inter- 
ests of  the  church  promoted,  accepted  the  invitation 
which  had  been  previously  tendered  him  to  preach  for 
two  months  in  Meadville,  Pa.,  and  on  the  next  Sunday, 
Jan.  i,  1884,  stood  in  that  pulpit. 

He  became  immediately  interested  in  the  church, 
the  people,  and  the  Theological  School.  The  two 
months  grew  into  four  under  the  hospitable  roof  of 
Professor  Frederic  Huidekoper. 

A  letter  in  the  Register,  which  he  wrote  from  Mead- 
ville, speaks  of  the  School  as  "  beautiful  for  situation," 
and  says:  "If  it  be  not  the  'joy  of  the  whole  earth' 
quite  yet,  it  is  surely  the  joy  of  a  zealous  group  of 
young  prophets,  who  aspire  to  be  'a  joy  to  the  whole 
earth,'  when  they  shall  have  completed  their  course, 
and  have  become  the  true  prophets  of  the  Lord. 

"  Meadville  is  a  delightful  town.  True,  it  is  not  Cam- 
bridge ;  but  it  has  a  college  as  well  as  a  theological 
school,  and  a  French  creek  nearly  as  large  as  the 
Charles  River,  and  subject  to  overflows  such  as  that 
little  classic  and  aristocratic  stream  never  experienced. 
Nevertheless,  Cambridge  has  some  advantages,  espe- 


Rowen  219 

cially  for  such  as  graduate  from  the  university.  But 
for  the  young  men  out  in  the  country,  who  in  farming, 
lumbering,  or  at  the  carpenter's  bench  hear  a  voice 
calling,  '  Come  over  into  Macedonia,  and  help  us,'  and 
who,  if  they  ever  respond,  must  do  it  at  once,  without 
a  college  preparation, —  for  such  hard-handed  but  warm- 
hearted young  men,  whose  eyes  are  opened  to  the  glory 
of  our  liberal  faith,  and  who  are  not  afraid  of  hard  study 
and  hard  work  in  making  preparation  for  a  useful  life, 
Meadville  is  the  place.  It  is  quiet,  it  is  healthy,  it  is 
central, —  in  short,  just  the  location  for  a  school  of 
robust  prophets  who  come  to  study,  not  the  literature  of 
religion  merely,  but  how  to  do  brave  service  for  the 
kingdom  of  God.  We  need  more  of  this  class  of  Chris- 
tian workers  in  our  liberal  Church.  There  cannot  be 
too  much  learning  if  it  be  all  consecrated  to  the  world's 
uplifting.  But,  when  learning  makes  a  man  dainty  and 
fastidious,  when  it  makes  him  sigh  for  the  flesh-pots  of 
rich  societies,  and  look  scornfully  on  small  places  with 
low  salaries,  however  great  their  need  of  a  spiritual 
helper,  then  the  learning  is  a  clog,  a  hindrance,  a  stone 
around  neck  and  heels,  which  has  sunk  many  a  man, 
leaving  only  a  few  bubbles  on  the  stagnant  waters  to 
tell  where  he  went  down.  The  learning  for  ministers 
is  the  learning  which  enlarges  the  heart  while  it 
broadens  the  intellect,  which  brings  one  into  closer  sym- 
pathy, not  with  the  refined  and  the  cultivated  merely, 
but  with  that  class  who  first  heard  Jesus  gladly,  —  'the 
common  people.'  Religion  in  white  gloves  is  not  the 
kind  for  which  humanity  waits.  It  is  bare-handed, 
muscular  piety  that  isn't  afraid  of  hard  work  in  hard 
soil  that  we  most  deeply  need. 


22O  Autobiography 

"We  have  ministers  enough  for  our  large  and  rich 
congregations,  more  than  enough.  A  long  file  of  them 
is  always  waiting  for  a  vacancy  in  the  delectable 
places.  They  would  rather  wait ;  for  death  is  always 
busy,  and  disaffection,  swifter  than  death,  is  always 
dissolving  ties  and  opening  doors.  They  would  rather 
wait  till  the  lottery  is  drawn,  in  the  forlorn  hope  of  a 
prize,  than  accept  the  call  of  that  little  struggling 
church,  where  the  pay  is  small,  however  large  the  pros- 
pect under  undismayed  and  manly  labor. 

"  We  have,  according  to  our  Year  Book,  seventy-five 
parishes  without  ministers.  The  most  of  these,  of 
course,  are  small  and  poor.  We  want  ministers  for 
these  seventy-five  small,  poor  churches,  each  one  of 
which  may  grow  into  a  mighty  power  for  spiritual  life 
under  the  guidance  of  a  brave  soul  touched  with  the 
spirit  of  God. 

"  We  want  as  many  more  to  fill  new  openings  and 
calls  for  live,  earnest,  self  sacrificing  men,  to  break  the 
bread  of  our  liberal  faith  to  those  who  are  hungering 
for  it.  Who  will  come  to  Meadville  or  go  to  Cam- 
bridge, to  prepare  for  such  a  work  ?  The  schools  are 
one  in  spirit  and  purpose,  in  aim  and  end.  Each 
should  rejoice  in  the  prosperity  of  the  other,  as  they 
both  do  in  every  token  of  deeper  religiousness  on  the 
part  of  those  they  send  out  to  work  for  God  and  man 
in  the  great  field  of  the  world. 

"  Young  men,  in  city  and  country,  rich  or  poor,  from 
farm  or  mechanic's  bench  or  academy,  who  among  you, 
to  whom  our  liberal  faith  is  dear,  will  come  and  enter 
on  this  broad  field  of  hard  work  and  poor  pay, —  a  work 
whose  reward  is  in  itself,  and  whose  check  only  the 
bank  of  heaven  will  honor  ? " 


Rowen  22 1 

As  Mr.  Tilden  had  no  longer  a  Boston  parish,  he  no 
longer  needed  a  Boston  home,  and,  besides,  he  wanted 
to  be  nearer  the  children  and  grandchildren  he  so 
dearly  loved,  and  who  filled  so  large  a  portion  of  his 
heart.  His  daughter  Laura,  with  her  husband  and 
son,  lived  in  Dorchester.  His  eldest  son  and  family 
were  near,  and  his  youngest  son  had  a  home  in  Milton 
(the  Havvthornes).  And  these  three  households  were 
all  within  little  more  than  a  mile  of  each  other. 

His  heart  had  already  decided  the  location,  even  be- 
fore his  son  George  sent  to  Meadville  the  plan  of  a 
cottage,  with  the  offer  of  land  in  his  own  garden  to 
build  upon.  A  letter  written  at  this  time  says  :  "You 
see,  I  can't  preach  much  longer.  We  must  have  a 
home  somewhere.  That  corner  of  the  garden  is  made 
on  purpose,  and  George's  plan  is  inspired.  Happy 
man  that  I  am !  such  children  and  grandchildren,  and 
a  cot  for  our  old  age  in  prospect.  The  hope  is  blessed. 
The  fruition  with  Him  who  doeth  all  things  well." 

This  home,  the  ground  for  which  was  broken  by  his 
little  grandchildren  March  13,  1884,  was  christened  the 
"  Red  Cottage."  It  more  than  realized  all  his  fondest 
hopes,  and  was  to  him  the  harbor  of  refuge  after  all  his 
wanderings,  the  dearest  spot  in  all  the  world,  the  place 
from  which  his  spirit  took  its  upward  flight. 

Before  leaving  Meadville,  he  received  the  following 
letter:  — 

REV.  WM.  P.  TILDEN  : 

Dear  Sir,—  In  the  name  of  the  congregation  of  the  Independent 
Congregational  Church  of  Meadville,  I  take  great  pleasure  in  in- 
viting you  to  return  after  the  summer  vacation,  and  continue  the 
ministrations  which  have  been  so  acceptable  for  the  coming 
year. 


222  Autobiography 

In  sending  this  invitation,  I  am  especially  gratified  at  being  able 
to  accompany  it  with  such  a  complete  list  of  signatures,  which 
will  prove  to  you  the  entire  unanimity  with  which  your  return  is 
desired  by  the  whole  congregation. 

I  do  not  know  that  we  can  offer  you  any  inducement  to  remain, 
longer  with  us,  save  the  very  simple  one  that  we  need  you;  and, 
since  it  is  so  much  more  "blessed  to  give  than  receive,"  I  can  but 
hope  that  our  very  necessities  will  plead  eloquently  in  our  behalf. 

Most  sincerely  yours, 

LUCY  T.  W.  TYLER,  Secretary. 
MEADVILLE,  Pa.,  March  27,  1884. 

Many  things  contributed  to  make  the  stay  in  Mead- 
ville  delightful,  not  the  least  of  which  was  the  renewal 
of  his  old  acquaintance  with  Dr.  A.  A.  Livermore, 
President  of  the  Theological  School,  through  whose 
influence,  probably,  the  first  invitation  to  preach  in 
Meadville  came,  and  by  whose  invitation  also  he  bad 
given  a  course  of  lectures  to  the  students.  So  he  con- 
sented to  come  for  a  part  of  the  next  year,  from  Oc- 
tober, 1884,  to  May,  1885. 

On  his  homeward  journey  he  spent  a  few  days  at 
Old  Point  Comfort,  and  was  for  a  short  time  the  guest 
of  Rev.  R.  R.  Shippen,  of  Washington,  preaching  for 
him  morning  and  evening.  While  in  the  city,  he  dined 
one  day  with  Frederick  Douglass,  who  says  in  a  letter 
afterwards  :  "  I  see  the  kind-hearted  and  brave  minister 
of  the  gospel  who  had  the  courage  to  invite  me,  an  un- 
known and  despised  fugitive  from  slavery,  into  his  new 
pulpit  in  Norton,  Mass.,  to  plead  the  then  much  perse- 
cuted cause  of  the  slave.  More  than  forty  years  have 
passed  since  this,  to  me,  important  event,  and  I  rejoice 
that  I  live  to  speak  of  it,  and  you  live  to  note  my  grate- 
ful mention  of  it.  I  like  to  look  over  the  field  of  the 


Rozven  223 

past  and  recall  such  incidents  ;  and  I  rejoice  that  I 
have  lived  to  have  your  dear  white  head  once  under  my 
roof." 

After  a  summer  in  the  Red  Cottage,  Milton,  he  re- 
turned to  Meadville  Oct.  i,  1884. 

The  hospitality  of  the  Huidekopers  was  boundless. 
Two  delightful  months  were  spent  with  Mr.  Alfred 
Huidekoper,  and  four  months  and  a  half  with  Miss 
Elizabeth  G.  Huidekoper,  who  opened  to  the  pastor  and 
his  wife  her  large  house  and  larger  heart.  Saint  Eliza- 
beth he  ever  afterwards  called  her.  In  both  house- 
holds everything  possible  was  clone  for  his  comfort  and 
happiness. 

In  preaching  and  lecturing  and  in  delightful  social 
intercourse  the  winter  sped  swiftly.  At  its  close  the 
following  letter  appeared  in  the  Register  from  the  pen 
of  Dr.  A.  A.  Livermore  :  — 

We  have  a  sad  farewell  to  say  to-day  to  our  venerated  pastor, 
Rev.  William  P.  Tilden.  He  has  for  two  seasons  ministered  to 
the  Unitarian  church,  out  of  his  rich  spiritual  experiences,  and 
from  the  fountains  of  a  warm,  loving  heart.  These  qualities  make 
him  one  of  the  youngest  and  freshest  of  our  ministers.  If  the 
advanced  in  years  like  him  because  he  carries  a  white  head  and  a 
fully  stored  history  of  more  than  forty  years  of  usefulness,  the 
young  love  him  because  he  is  young  as  the  youngest  in  cheerful 
spirits  and  fond  sympathies.  How  wonderfully  various  are  the 
gifts  of  men !  How  every  man  is  a  new  world  in  himself,  unlike 
any  that  went  before  or  any  that  shall  come  after!  Brother 
Tilden  is  a  world  in  himself ;  and  the  peculiarity  of  his  world  is 
that  it  possesses  to  an  unusual  degree  the  attraction  of  gravita- 
tion,—  he  is  one  of  the  drawing  kind.  In  that  respect  he  re- 
sembles the  great  Master  himself,  who  drew  all  men  to  him,  and 
whom  the  people  heard  gladly.  He  has  done  much  to  revive  our 
church,  increase  the  Sunday  congregations,  add  members  to  the 


224  Autobiography 

church,  and  harmonize  and  spiritualize  conflicting  religious  views. 
He  takes  a  sensible,  practical  outlook  of  the  times,  and  gives  a 
charitable  interpretation  to  aspects  of  thought  and  speculation 
which  some  regard  as  boding  no  good  to  the  future  of  our  Zion. 
Not  only  in  the  church  have  we  had  beautiful  and  deeply 
Christian  discourses  and  services,  Sunday  after  Sunday, —  for  he 
has  made  only  one  exchange  since  he  has  been  here, —  but  in  the 
Theological  School,  both  last  year  and  this  year,  he  has  given 
lectures  on  the  duties  and  aims  of  the  ministry  of  the  most  useful 
and  telling  character.  To  specify  no  other,  that  on  "  Sealed 
Orders"  would  make  a  column  in  the  Register  that  would  benefit 
not  only  every  theological  school  in  the  land,  but  even  the  lords 
of  the  pulpit  themselves.  Especially  in  setting  the  duties  of  the 
preacher  and  those  of  the  pastor  in  due  and  true  perspective  with 
one  another,  he  has  done  excellent  service.  Nor  is  he  the  man 
who  says  one  thing  and  does  another.  His  ministry  here  has 
been  distinguished  not  only  for  constant  industry,  fresh  new 
sermons,  eager  and  wide  reading,  but  helpful  calls  on  every  possi- 
ble son  or  daughter  of  the  parish,  the  looking  up  of  the  stray 
lambs  of  the  flock,  and  hearty  mingling  in  social  gatherings,  both 
in  the  society  and  in  other  churches.  In  one  word,  it  has  been  all 
along  the  renovation  of  the  ministerial  office,  in  church  and  parish, 
brought  down  to  date,  filled  out  in  its  opportunities  of  usefulness, 
and  breathing  the  Christ-like  and  helpful  spirit.  It  is  not  the  new 
wine  in  new  bottles  so  much  as  the  good  old  wine,  mellowed  by 
lime  and  experience,  in  new  bottles.  But  our  blessings  brighten 
as  they  depart ;  and  now  we  have  to  bid  farewell  to  our  friends, 
and  to  wish  them  all  manner  of  happiness  in  their  Milton  home, 
which  they  abundantly  deserve. 


XXIII. 

ROWEN. 

1885-1886. 

BRIGHTON. — ATLANTA. —  MAY  MEMORIAL  SERMON. — LECTURES 
AXD  BACCALAUREATE  IN  MEADVILLE. — CLOSE  OF  MINISTRY 
AT  BRIGHTON. 

SEPTEMBER,  1885,  he  took  the  supply  of  the  Brighton 
pulpit  for  a  few  months,  and  while  there  made  an  ex- 
change of  seven  Sundays  with  Rev.  George  L.  Chancy, 
of  Atlanta,  Ga.  From  the  latter  place  he  wrote  to  the 
Unity :  "  We  are  not  '  marching  through  Georgia,'  only 
in  camp  for  a  time.  We  are  here  in  this  city  of  roses 
and  balmy  air  on  an  exchange  with  brother  Chaney, 
who  is  at  the  North  with  his  sick  wife,  now  happily  re- 
covering from  a  long  illness.  We  find  they  have 
together  been  doing  a  noble  work  here,  winning  the 
honor  and  love  not  only  of  their  own  people,  but  of  out- 
siders, by  their  earnest  work  in  behalf  of  a  Christianity 
that  is  deeper  and  higher  and  broader  than  any  '  ism.' 
Their  return  to  Atlanta  will  be  hailed  with  joy.  The 
Church  of  our  Father  has  a  fine  chapel,  with  a  corner 
lot  in  the  centre  of  the  city  reserved  for  a  church  edifice 
when  the  time  shall  come.  It  must  come  at  no  distant 
time ;  for  the  city  is  rapidly  growing,  and  minds  and 
hearts  are  opening  to  the  glory  of  our  growing  faith. 
This  pioneer  movement  inaugurated  by  the  Chaneys  is 


226  A  ntobiograpJiy 

no  longer  an  experiment.  It  is  an  established  fact. 
We  have  one  church  of  the  future  in  Georgia,  and  may 
confidently  hope  that  the  ten  times  one  will  come 
through  hard  working  and  patient  waiting.  We  have 
spent  a  most  delightful  season  here  with  the  saints  and 
sinners  of  our  own  and  other  faiths,  and  shall  bear  away 
pleasant  memories  and  bright  hopes  of  our  brave  little 
church  planted  here  and  planted  to  grow." 

In  June  of  that  year,  1886,  he  went  to  Meadville  and 
gave  a  course  of  eight  lectures  to  the  students  of  the 
Theological  School,  and  two  sermons,  the  last  being  the 
Baccalaureate,  in  ten  consecutive  days.  On  September 
1 2th  he  gave  a  sermon  in  Syracuse,  N.Y.,  on  the  unveil- 
ing of  a  mural  tablet  to  the  memory  of  his  dear  friend, 
Samuel  J.  May. 

A  brief  extract  from  that  sermon  is  given  here  :  — 
"  Calm  as  a  June  morning,  but  firm  as  Gibraltar,  he 
was  a  moral  hero.  No  wonder  a  phrenologist,  on 
examining  his  head,  told  him  he  should  have  been  a 
soldier.  Indeed,  he  was  a  soldier.  He  had  not  missed 
his  calling  :  only  his  warfare  was  of  the  higher  kind, 
and  his  weapons 

"  '  Those  mild  arms  of  Truth  and  Love, 
Made  mighty  through  the  living  God.' 

"Then  he  came  to  you, —  fortunate  people, —  and 
blessed  you  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century.  I 
say  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  for  he  blessed 
you  after  he  resigned  his  pastorate  just  as  he  did  before, 
until  a  voice  from  heaven  whispered  to  him,  '  COME  UP 
HIGHER,'  and,  with  a  faith  in  the  immortal  life  scarcely 
less  clear  than  sight,  he  rose. 


Row  en  227 

"  What  he  was  to  you  in  all  those  ripest  years  of  his 
ministry,  in  the  church,  in  the  home,  in  the  schools,  in 
the  city,  in  the  nation,  what  a  son  of  consolation  he 
was  in  all  your  sorrows,  how  sincerely  he  rejoiced  with 
the  rejoicing  and  wept  with  the  weeping,  what  a 
preacher  he  was  of  truth  and  righteousness  as  he  saw 
it,  how  loyal  to  his  highest  light,  how  ready  to  meet 
danger  and  death  in  obedience  to  the  higher  voice, 
how,  when  the  great  hour  of  emancipation  struck,  his 
soul  leaped  forth  in  joy  and  gratitude  at  the  glorious 
consummation  of  his  life-long  labors  and  prayers,  and 
then  the  growing  beauty  and  glory  of  his  life  as  the 
shadows  lengthened  and  the  sunset  hour  drew  nigh, — 
all  this,  and  more,  you  know  so  well  that  I  can  only 
hint  at  what,  to  you,  is  open  vision. 

"  It  was  my  privilege  to  be  with  you  fifteen  years  ago, 
—  oh,  how  the  years  fly !  —  when  we  met  in  the  old 
church  for  the  last  offices  of  faith  and  affection.  I 
never  witnessed  such  an  occasion.  Dearly  as  I  loved 
him,  it  did  not  seem  like  a  funeral.  It  was  rather  like 
a  grand  and  solemn  apotheosis,  the  crowning  of  a  noble 
soul  with  the  highest  honor  man  can  ever  receive, —  the 
revered  love  of  his  fellows,  won  by  noble  living. 

"  Many  of  those  who  gathered  around  the  grave,  and 
looked  up,  not  down  for  him,  have  since  passed  on, 
leaving  only  a  few  of  the  old-time  veterans  in  the  moral 
fight  to  gather  now  and  then,  with  ever-narrowing  cir- 
cles, to  talk  over  the  'times  that  tried  men's  souls.' 

"  But  still  you  keep  his  memory  green.  In  the  grati- 
tude of  your  hearts,  you  have  made  this  new  church  of 
your  love  and  prayer  a  '  May  Memorial,'  that  his  name 
and  memory  may  still  mingle  with  your  best  thoughts 


228  A  utobiography 

and  highest  aspirations.  And  now  his  kindred  in  flesh 
and  spirit  have  asked  the  privilege  of  placing  on  these 
walls  their  memorial  of  honor  and  affection,  to  show 
their  personal  love  of  the  man  you  have  so  delighted  to 
honor. 

"  '  HE  WAS  A  GOOD  MAN.'  Yes,  and  a  great  man,— 
great  in  Christ's  idea  of  greatness,  when  he  said  to  his 
disciples,  WHOSOEVER  WILL  BE  GREAT  AMONG  YOU, 
LET  HIM  BE  YOUR  MINISTER, —  the  greatness  of  service. 

"That  he  fought  not  with  carnal,  but  spiritual  weap- 
ons required  not  less  courage,  but  more,  as  it  calls  for 
more  heroism  to  be  stoned  for  truth  than  to  stone 
him  who  assails  it.  His  courage  was  tempered  with 
the  Christ  spirit.  With  no  cry  of  '  Lord,  Lord  ! '  he 
followed  closely  in  the  Master's  steps.  With  what  a 
mighty  '  Amen  '  in  our  hearts  we  heard  those  words  of 
his  dear  friend,  President  \Vhite,  spoken  at  his  grave  :  — 

"  '  Here  lies  before  us  all  that  was  mortal  of  the  best 
man,  the  most  truly  Christian,  I  have  ever  known, — 
the  purest,  the  sweetest,  the  fullest  of  faith  and  hope 
and  charity,  the  most  like  the  Master.  Had  our  Lord 
come  upon  this  earth  again,  and  into  these  streets,  any 
time  in  these  thirty  years,  he  was  sure  of  one  follower. 
Came  he  as  black  man  or  red  man  or  the  most 
wretched  of  white  men,  came  he  in  rags  or  sores,  this 
one  dear  friend  would  have  followed  him,  no  matter 
what  weapons,  carnal  or  spiritual,  were  hurled  at  the 
procession.' 

"  Golden  words  !  History  and  epitaph  in  one.  We 
cannot  add  to  them  if  we  would.  We  can  only  repeat 
the  text, —  '  HE  WAS  A  GOOD  MAN.'" 

On  the  last  Sunday  in  December,  1886,  Mr.  Tilden 


Row  en  229 

closed  his  engagement  in  Brighton,  feeling  that  the 
society  had  been  long  enough  without  a  resident 
pastor. 

It  was  a  pleasant  year  of  ministerial  service,  though 
a  good  deal  broken  into  by  the  Southern  trip  and  the 
Meadville  lectures. 

The  drive  of  one  hour  from  Milton  to  Brighton  was 
through  a  delightful  part  of  country  and  city,  and  was 
most  enjoyable.  A  choir  of  young  girls  and  boys  was 
organized  while  he  was  there,  in  which  he  took  great 
interest,  calling  them  always  "  my  choir." 


XXIV. 

ROWEN. 

1887-1889. 

PLYMOUTH,  ATLANTA,  CHATTANOOGA,  NEW  ORLEANS,  NASH- 
VILLE, CHARLESTON,  SAVANNAH. —  PLYMOUTH. —  ILLNESS. 
NOTICE  IN  "WATCHMAN." — WILMINGTON. —  INVITATION  TO 
SETTLE  IN  WILMINGTON. —  CALL  DECLINED  —  LETTER  TO 
C.  G.  AMES. —  ANOTHER  COURSE  OF  LECTURES  AT  MEAD- 
VILLE. 

THE  first  Sunday  of  the  new  year  1887  he  was  in- 
vited to  preach  in  Plymouth,  Mass.  This  was  followed 
by  eight  delightful  Sundays  in  the  same  parish,  the 
people  wishing  him  to  supply  their  pulpit  for  a  time 
after  his  return  from  another  Southern  trip. 

In  March  he  writes  from  Atlanta  to  the  Register: 
"  Forty-eight  hours  apart,  as  the  cars  fly ;  but  the  cli- 
matic change,  as  we  experienced  it,  was  from  winter 
to  summer.  Sunday,  6th  inst.,  we  waded,  knee-deep, 
through  driven  snow  to  the  Church  of  the  Disciples, 
Boston,  to  speak  a  word  to  the  lonely  flock  who  missed 
the  voice  of  their  good  shepherd.  Soon  may  they  hear 
it  again!  Sunday,  I3th,  we  are  here  at  Atlanta,  in  a 
perfect  spring  garden,  peach-blossoms  in  all  their  glory, 
crab-apple  and  pear-trees  just  putting  on  their  deli- 
cately tinted  robes,  the  blue-green  grass  carpeting  the 
lawns,  and  the  young  wheat  almost  tall  enough  to 


Row  en  231 

wave.  The  change  seems  magical  as  well  as  delightful. 
Atlanta  is  really  a  very  beautiful  city.  We  thought  so 
last  year.  We  think  so  this  year  still  more  vigorously. 
It  is  constantly  growing,  not  only  in  population  and 
business  enterprise,  but  in  that  architectural  finish  and 
beauty  which  one  hardly  expects  to  see  in  a  city  so 
young. 

"Mr.  Chaney  is  just  now  holding  services  in  Chatta- 
nooga, another  rapidly  growing  city,  four  hours  away, 
where  he  hopes  that  the  corner-stone  of  a  new  liberal 
church  may  be  laid.  He  thinks  that  the  time  has  fully 
come  for  '  church  extension '  in  these  new  fields." 

A  few  weeks  later  Mr.  Tilden  writes  from  Chatta- 
nooga as  follows  :  "This  rapidly  growing  city  is  known 
as  'The  Southern  Gateway  of  the  Alleghanies ' ;  and, 
although  it  sounds  slightly  ambitious,  there  are  solid 
terra  firma  reasons  for  so  regarding  it,  since  the  Ten- 
nessee River,  on  a  graceful  curve  of  which  the  city  is 
built,  pushes  its  way  between  the  mountains,  marking 
the  only  natural  path  to  the  region  beyond.  The  In- 
dians called  it  Chattanooga,  or  'crow's  nest,'  because, 
doubtless,  of  its  being  such  a  cosey  retreat,  hemmed  in 
by  the  surrounding  heights.  But  its  natural  advan- 
tages as  a  landing  near  the  'Gate'  for  receiving  and 
shipping  the  primitive  products  of  the  surrounding 
country  led  to  its  settlement  by  the  whites,  who  ob- 
tained a  charter  in  1852. 

"The  war,  sweeping  away  everything  in  the  settle- 
ment, slaves  and  all,  left  the  soil  clean  for  a  fresh 
beginning.  Since  then  the  growth  of  the  place  in 
commerce,  in  manufactures,  in  numbers,  and  in  wealth, 
has  been  wonderfully  rapid,  and  is  still  rising  in  a  per- 
fect freshet  of  prosperity. 


232  Antob  iograpJiy 

"  During  the  last  few  months  there  has  been  a  boom 
in  real  estate  here,  which  has  made  some  small  land- 
owners comfortable  and  large  ones  corpulent.  But 
the  freshet  is  subsiding,  and  those  caught  on  the  bars 
will  have  to  wait  for  another  boom  to  take  them  off. 
But  our  chief  interest  in  the  city  just  now  is  not  in  its 
commerce  or  its  corner  lots,  but  in  its  religious  needs. 
We  are  here,  by  advice  and  counsel  of  Bishop  Chancy, 
to  see  if  there  be  any  call  for  Unitarian  church  exten- 
sion. Of  course,  everybody  else  is  here  before  us, 
Catholic  and  Protestant.  '  If  you  had  only  come  last 
year,'  it  is  said,  'you  could  easily  have  started  a 
church ;  but  now  the  liberals  have  joined  the  other 
churches,  and  really,'  etc.  But,  remembering  who  gave 
the  cheering  promise,  'The  last  shall  be  first,'  which 
fits  our  tardy  habits  as  if  made  for  our  special  benefit, 
we  went  to  work.  The  bishop  came  here  for  three 
Sundays,  while  we  supplied  his  pulpit  in  Atlanta ;  and 
then  we  came  for  three  Sundays  more.  Our  place  of 
meeting  is  an  'upper  room,'  up  two  flights,  not  'large' 
or  'furnished '  like  that  at  Jerusalem,  but  with  numbers 
most  encouragingly  akin  to  that  early  Christian  gather- 
ing. But,  if  numbers  were  few,  opinions  were  many, 
ranging  all  the  way  from  old-fashioned  Unitarianism  to 
new-fashioned  nothingarianism,  with  a  freedom  of  ex- 
pression that  was  sublime  in  its  transparent  honesty. 
One  would  have  hardly  deemed  it  possible  to  get  so 
many  opinions  from  so  few  persons.  It  was  a  unique 
company.  It  was  plain  that  the  creed  must  be  very 
simple  and  general  that  could  unite  them.  But,  fortu- 
nately, we  had  no  creed  to  offer,  only  a  purpose  of 
getting  good  and  doing  good ;  and  on  this  broad 
ground  we  found  a  cordial  response. 


Rowen  233 

"  Here  is  a  grand  chance  for  some  young  Eliot  or 
Chancy  to  give  himself,  soul  and  body,  to  founding 
and  building  up  a  liberal  church  —  a  church  of  the 
spirit,  a  church  of  humanity  —  in  this  charming  'Gate- 
way of  the  Alleghanies.' " 

April  24  he  preached  in  New  Orleans  for  Rev.  C.  A. 
Allen,  in  whose  charming  home  and  in  that  of  Mr.  C. 
Holloway  a  week  was  spent, —  the  week  of  the  South- 
ern Conference.  This  in  itself  was  a  great  delight ; 
and  both  gentlemen  were  unwearied  in  their  kindness 
to  the  strangers,  showing  them  the  attractions  of  their 
lovely  city,  its  homes,  its  typical  gardens,  its  cathedral, 
market,  old  French  and  Spanish  houses,  its  many  pres- 
ent beauties,  and  the  traces  of  its  historic  past. 

The  next  Sunday  was  spent  in  Nashville,  Tenn.  A 
letter  to  his  daughter  at  this  time  says  :  "  We  have 
been  here  nearly  two  days,  and  have  found  but  one 
Unitarian,  and  he  doesn't  know  whether  he  is  one  or 
not.  But  I  have  engaged  the  Olympic  Theatre  for 
next  Sunday  morning  and  evening,  and  then  and  there 
hope  to  make  my  debut  as  an  apostle  of  our  blessed 
faith.  Should  there  be  only  that  one  present,  who 
doesn't  quite  know  where  he  stands,  I  shall  hope  to 
drive  him  from  the  fence,  and  make  him  see  where  he 
is  before  I  get  through.  But  I  guess  there  will  be  two, 
possibly  three,  so  that  we  may  claim  the  blessing  prom- 
ised to  that  number.  That  we  are  homesick  goes  with- 
out saying;  but  we  bear  it,  promising  to  each  other,  if 
we  ever  do  get  home,  we  'won't  do  so  again.' ' 

The  next  Sunday  was  spent  in  Birmingham,  where 
he  preached  only  in  the  evening,  as  he  was  unable  to 
procure  any  place  for  morning  service.  He  returned 


234  Autobiography 

to   Atlanta  the  next  day,  May  9   (his  birthday).     He 
writes  home  as  follows  :  — 

Dear  Children  and  Grandchildren, — Thanks,  thanks,  thanks,  for 
telegram  and  letters.  Oh,  how  refreshing  they  were,  when  I 
reached  Atlanta  after  a  seven  hours'  ride  from  Birmingham,  in  a 
hot  sultry,  dusty  day !  I  could  sit  and  think  of  you  all,  and  of  what 
you  were  thinking  and  doing,  for  I  knew  we  poor  estrays  would 
mingle  with  your  thoughts. 

I  was  all  alone,  so  I  jolted,  and  mused,  and  thought,  and  loved, 
and  longed  amid  a  crowd  of  tired  travellers,  comforted  with  the 
sweet  thought  that  we  were  pointing  homeward,  though  fifteen 
hundred  miles  away,  and  that  every  jolt  and  lurch  brought  me 
a  little  nearer  to  the  "  little  Red  "  and  all  it  stands  for. 

So  far  we  have  had,  on  the  whole,  a  good  time,  though  fatiguing. 
But  you  may  be  assured,  my  dear  ones,  that  after  this  we  shall  be 
as  glad  to  stay  at  the  "  little  Red  "  as  you  will  be  to  have  us. 

If  we  didn't  love  you  all  so  well,  we  could  stand  this  being  away 
better,  but  love  is  a  great  pull-back  to  the  missionary  zeal  of  an 
old  man. 

After  two  more  Sundays  in  Atlanta  he  went  to 
Charleston,  S.C.,  where  a  warm  welcome  awaited  him 
from  Rev.  and  Mrs.  E.  C.  L.  Browne,  whose  two  hearts 
he  had  made  one  some  twenty-five  years  before.  He 
supplied  the  pulpit  for  Mr.  Browne  one  Sunday,  and  was 
introduced  by  him  to  the  congregation  as  the  "  good 
gray  head  which  all  men  knew." 

A  letter  from  Mr.  Browne  at  this  time  in  the  Register 
says:  "Father  Tilden,  the  loved  bishop  of  souls,  has 
touched  our  south  country  with  his  episcopal  benignity, 
a  spirit  more  genial  than  our  breezes,  and  a  smile,  not 
prostrating  like  our  sun,  but  carrying  the  strength  of 
faith.  After  establishing  several  churches  (potential) 
in  partibus  infidclium,  strengthening  the  faith  and 


Rowen  235 

zeal  of  the  congregations  in  Atlanta  and  New  Orleans, 
cheering  the  Southern  Conference  with  the  optimism  of 
his  experience,  giving  his  hearty  benediction  and  charge, 
as  well  as  example,  to  the  young  evangelist,  now  work- 
ing alone  in  the  far  South-west,  last  of  all  he  brought  the 
treasure  of  his  presence  to  Charleston,  lingering  with  us 
in  a  whole  restful  week  of  communion  before  his  final 
ascension  to  Boston.  We  can  still  hear  his  voice, 
though  his  presence  is  gone.  What  a  peculiar  thrill 
is  in  it,  vibrating  with  a  mingle  of  human  sympathy 
and  divine  hope.  He  came  as  we  have  known  him 
of  old, —  as  when,  twenty-three  years  ago,  in  the  April 
freshness  of  a  New  England  town,  he  preached  in  the 
old  church  on  the  hill  my  ordination  sermon.  He  came 
the  same,  unless  one  is  reminded  of  Jones  Very's 
thought, — 

" '  Father,  there  is  no  change  to  live  with  thee, 
Save  that  in  thee  I  grow  from  day  to  day.' 

But  he  goes  in  another  character.  He  will  hereafter 
be  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra  to  us ;  for  no  one  ever  more  persua- 
sively said,  in  obedience  to  this  law  of  fulfilment, — 

"  '  Grow  old  along  with  me  ! 

The  best  is  yet  to  be, — 
The  end  of  life,  for  which  the  first  was  made. 
Youth  shows  but  half.     See  all.     Trust  God,  nor  be  afraid !  ' 

But,  whether  bishop  or  rabbi,  or  brother  or  father, 
whether  growing  old  or  in  perpetual  youth,  his  good 
works  follow  him,  and  our  love  must  crown  him." 

Mr.    Tilden's   letter  from    Savannah,  June    2,   1887, 
says :    "  We  had   a  delightful  stay  with  the  Brownes. 


236  Autobiography 

Preached  for  him  Sunday.  Came  here  Tuesday.  Did 
the  city  yesterday,  and  it  surprised  us  with  its  beauty. 
Sail  to-day  at  about  three  in  the  '  Gate  City '  for  dear 
old  Boston  and  the  dearer  children,  grandchildren,  and 
friends. 

"  We  hope  to  arrive  at  the  Hub  some  time  Sunday 
afternoon,  if  all  goes  well.  And  all  will  go  well,  what- 
ever comes,  for  '  Our  Father's  at  the  helm.'  Oh,  shall 
we  not  be  glad  to  see  Boston  Light,  and  the  light  in  so 
many  heart  windows  ashore  waiting  for  us  !  " 

After  his  return  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  supply 
the  Plymouth  pulpit  for  six  months  ;  but,  before  that 
engagement  was  quite  concluded,  he  had  a  serious  ill- 
ness (bronchitis)  which  kept  him  in  bed  many  weeks, 
and  from  which,  though  he  apparently  recovered  entirely, 
he  never  regained  his  former  vigor.  But  he  still  loved 
his  chosen  work  just  as  well  as  ever,  and  said  after 
every  service,  "  I  thank  God  that  I  have  been  able  to 
preach  once  more." 

About  this  time  the  following  statement  appeared  in 
the  Watchman:  — 

Every  now  and  then  somebody  gives  us  a  moving  picture  of  a 
happily  settled  pastor,  sexagenarian,  who  is  the  idol  of  his  congre- 
gation and  "doing  his  best  work,"  as  a  living  refutation  of  the 
nonsense  about  "  the  dead  line  of  fifty,"  which  limits  the  useful- 
ness of  ministers.  This,  however,  is  raising  a  false  issue.  No- 
body charges  upon  churches  that  they  summarily  dismiss  or  get 
rid  of  their  pastors  as  soon  as  they  are  fifty  years  old.  No  doubt 
a  man  who  is  well  preserved  physically,  and  able  for  his  work, 
may  often  live  on  with  the  same  people  for  years  after  that  date. 
But  suppose  a  man  on  the  shady  side  of  fifty  to  be  (from  no  cause 
that  is  to  his  discredit)  without  pastoral  charge  :  what  are  his 
chances  of  receiving  a  call,  or  even  of  being  asked  so  much  as  to 
supply  a  pulpit  for  a  Sabbath  or  two  ?  When  somebody  will  in- 
stance such  a  man  whose  services  are  in  brisk  demand,  we  will 


Roiven  237 

admit  an  exception  to  a  very  general  rule.     When  two  are  named, 
we  will  reconsider  the  question." 

The  Register  says, — 

"  If  the  Watchman  is  willing  to  count  Unitarians,  we  will  move 
a  reconsideration,  and  mention  two  men  past  seventy  in  constant 
demand  among  us, —  Dr.  A.  P.  Peabody  and  Rev.  W.  P.  Tilden." 

Oct.  8,  1888,  he  commenced  a  six  months'  pastorate 
in  Wilmington,  Del. 

A  Register  letter  says  :  "  There  is  a  large  Quaker 
element  in  the  society  here,  which  is  very  interesting. 
The  Hicksite  Friends  are  essentially  Unitarians,  and 
easily  and  naturally  affiliate  with  us,  especially  the  ris- 
ing generation.  They  bring  what  Matthew  Arnold 
called  'sweetness  and  light.'  We  welcome  both. 

"Our  little  vine-clad  brick  church  is  delightfully  situ- 
ated on  a  street  abounding  in  churches.  We  have  a 
Sunday  attendance  of  near  a  hundred,  sometimes  more. 

"  Wilmington  is  a  rapidly  growing  city.  Its  rolling 
surface  gives  picturesqueness  to  its  billowy  streets,  and 
limits  horse-cars  to  the  more  level  lines.  The  quaint  old 
houses  of  a  former  generation,  sprinkled  in  here  and 
there  among  the  new  ones,  are  very  interesting.  But  in 
the  prominent  streets  and  out  on  the  hills  are  some  ele- 
gant structures  of  the  modern  style,  showing  how  wealth 
and  taste  are  united  in  making  the  city  beautiful.  The 
bird's-eye  view  from  high  points  of  the  Brandywine  and 
Christiana  Rivers,  that  encircle  the  city  in  their  liquid 
arms,  and  pour  their  united  waters  into  the  broad  Dela- 
ware as  it  sweeps  on  to  the  capes,  is  very  grand.  As  a 
seaport,  Wilmington  has  great  advantages.  Its  ship- 
building interest  in  wood  and  iron  is  most  refreshingly 


238  Autobiography 

prosperous.  One  vessel  is  no  sooner  launched  than  an- 
other keel  is  stretched  upon  the  blocks.  The  yards  are 
so  full  of  men  as  to  remind  me  of  Medford  fifty  years 
ago.  Wilmington  is  sure  to  grow,  and  the  first  Unita- 
rian society  to  grow  with  it." 

His  home  letter  for  December  25th  says:  "Hail! 
and  a  merry  Christmas  to  you  all, —  Laura  and  the 
doctor,  Will  and  Anna,  George  and  Alice,  Joseph,  and 
May,  and  Cora,  and  Charlie,  and  Elsie,  and  Edith,— 
thrice  merry,  merry,  merry  Christmas  to  you  all. 
Well,  it  is  good  for  the  inward  eyes  to  see  you.  You 
look  as  if  you  had  had  a  good  dinner.  The  turkey  and 
pudding  shine  through.  How  did  we  come  ?  Not  on 
the  wires  or  through  the  telephone,  but  in  the  good 
old  way  of  thought  and  affection  by  which  Adam  and 
Eve  held  intercourse  the  first  time  they  lost  sight  of 
each  other  among  the  trees  of  the  garden.  We  talk 
of  abolishing  time  and  space  with  electricity  and  tin 
tubes :  bungling  inventions  they  are  in  comparison 
with  the  electrical  battery  of  the  brain  and  heart  by 
which  we  can  girdle  the  globe  in  less  than  thirty  min- 
utes, and  dine  with  our  loved  ones  whenever  we  please, 
however  far  away.  But  we  didn't  come  to  talk  phi- 
losophy or  eat  dinner,  though  we  should  like  a  bite, 
—  it  looks  so  nice  and  smells  so  Christmasy, —  but 
just  to  take  your  hands  and  look  into  your  eyes  and 
tell  you  all  that  we  don't  get  over  loving  you  a  bit, 
and  don't  want  to,  though,  if  we  only  could  ease  up 
a  little,  it  would  be  more  comfortable  when  we  are 
away  down  in  Delaware." 

At  the  end  of  six  months  the  Register  contained  the 
following  notice  :  — 


R  oiv  en  239 

Wilmington,  Del. —  This  society  has  been  enjoying  the  minis- 
trations of  Rev.  William  P.  Tilden  for  the  past  six  months ;  and 
during  that  time  the  attendance  upon  the  Sunday  services  has 
steadily  increased.  Mr.  Tilden  has  won  the  hearts  of  all  alike, 
young  and  old,  conservative  and  radical.  His  eloquent  preaching, 
his  gentle  and  manly  spirit,  his  fatherly  interest  and  tender  sym- 
pathy, have  so  attracted  to  himself  and  to  the  religion  he  so 
thoroughly  represents  in  his  walk  and  conversation,  that  the  action 
of  the  society  at  its  meeting  on  Sunday,  March  10,  was  both 
natural  and  logical.  The  following  preamble  and  resolutions 
were  on  that  occasion  unanimously  adopted :  — 

Whereas  this  society  has  enjoyed  for  the  last  six  months  the  minis- 
trations of  Rev.  William  P.  Tilden,  and  during  that  time  it  has  learned 
to  love  and  respect  his  character,  and  appreciate  his  high  spiritual  and 
intellectual  qualities ;  and 

Whereas  we  feel  that  our  spiritual  perceptions  have  been  quickened 
and  our  intellectual  faculties  enlarged  and  strengthened  by  his  eloquent 
and  impressive  teachings, —  therefore, 

Resolved,  That  this  society  extends  to  Rev.  William  P.  Tilden  a 
unanimous  call  to  become  its  pastor. 

Resolved,  That  the  trustees  be  requested  and  authorized  to  make  such 
arrangements  with  Mr.  Tilden  as  may  be  necessary  to  secure  his  services 
to  the  society,  pledging  themselves  to  sustain  and  support  him  in  his 
pastoral  work. 

Resolved,  That  a  committee  of  three  be  appointed  to  wait  upon  Mr. 
Tilden,  and  present  to  him  this  call,  and  urge  upon  him  its  acceptance. 

Mr.  Tilden's  decision  has  not  yet  been  ascertained,  but  every 
member  of  the  society  and  congregation  awaits  it  with  undis- 
guised anxiety.  It  is,  perhaps,  unusual  for  a  call  to  be  extended 
to  a  minister  seventy-seven  years  of  age;  but  this  society  asks  no 
better  service  than  he  can  render.  And  it  will  be  their  greatest 
pleasure  to  sustain  him  with  their  love  and  sympathy  during  the 
remaining  years  of  his  ministerial  work.  If  he  should  remain,  the 
future  prosperity  of  this  society  will  be  assured. 

Gratifying  as  this  call  was,  Mr.  Tilden,  feeling  that 
the  society  misjudged  his  strength,  and  knowing  his  in- 
ability for  continuous  work,  felt  obliged  to  decline, 
which  he  did  in  the  following  letter  :  — 


240  Autobiography 

MESSRS.  GEORGE  W.  STONE,  DANIEL  W.  TAYLOR,  AND  HEY- 
WOOD  CONANT,  Committee  of  the  First  Unitarian  Society  of 
Wilmington,  Del.  : 

Gentlemen  and  Brethren, —  Your  kind  invitation  to  the  pastorate 
of  your  church  is  before  me.  It  is  remarkable  for  its  cordiality 
and  for  the  largeness  and  entire  unanimity  of  the  vote.  I  feel  sure 
that  such  a  call  to  one  of  my  age,  who  came  not  as  a  candidate, 
must  have  warm  hearts  behind  it,  and  that  I  may  confidently  rely 
on  its  pledges  of  support  and  co-operation.  It  demands  most 
serious  consideration.  This  I  have  tried  to  give  it.  I  sincerely 
hope  I  have  been  guided  wisely,  and  that  you  will  all  see,  on  due 
reflection,  that  my  decision  is  best  for  you  as  well  as  for  myself. 

When  I  left  my  church  in  Boston  five  years  ago,  it  was  with 
the  fixed  and,  as  I  think,  wise  purpose  of  not  taking  another 
pastorate.  I  left  for  rest  and  change,  intending  still  to  preach  as 
long  as  strength  and  opportunity  continued.  Both  have  been 
granted  to  a  remarkable  degree,  so  that  these  years  of  here  and 
there  preaching  have  proved  the  happiest  of  my  long  ministerial 
life.  Three  of  the  churches  to  which  I  have  ministered  for  a 
longer  or  shorter  period  are  now  rejoicing  in  acceptable  pastors 
and  going  on  prospering  and  to  prosper.  When  I  came  to 
Wilmington,  although  an  entire  stranger  to  you  all,  I  hoped  that 
here  also  I  might  pave  the  way  for  some  good  man  in  whom  you 
could  all  unite;  but,  lo !  in  the  abounding  kindness  of  your  hearts 
you  wish  me  to  stay  as  your  permanent  pastor.  This  is  as  gratify- 
ing as  it  is  unexpected,  for  we  all  love  to  be  loved.  Were  I  not 
remarkably  wise,  I  might  yield  to  my  feelings  rather  than  to  my 
judgment,  and  accede  to  your  generous  proposals.  But  I  know 
my  inability  for  prolonged  and  continuous  service  too  well  to  take 
such  an  advantage  of  your  kindness.  I  owe  my  present  health 
and  strength  very  largely,  I  think,  to  my  migratory  habits.  I  do 
not  stay  long  enough  in  a  place  to  get  tired  or  for  the  people  to 
get  tired  of  me.  I  seem  to  thrive  best  on  the  wing,  and  should 
not  dare  to  light  for  any  length  of  time,  lest  I  should  not  be  able 
to  rise.  Should  I  stay  longer  with  you,  you  might  love  me  less 
and  think  less  of  my  preaching.  I  prize  your  good  opinion  too 
highly  to  run  the  risk.  Be  assured,  therefore,  that  I  am  doing 
you  as  well  as  myself  the  greatest  kindness  in  declining  your  per- 
suasive call. 


Rou'en  241 

We  shall  bear  away  with  us  delightful  memories  of  your 
pleasant  city  and  our  many  kind  friends  here.  We  shall  ever 
feel  a  deep  interest  in  the  welfare  of  your  church,  which  hence- 
forth will  be  our  church,  too;  and  it  is  our  hearts'  desire  and 
prayer  that  in  fulness  of  time  one  may  be  sent  to  you  who  will 
prove  himself  a  true  helper  in  the  divine  life. 

Your  six  months'  minister  and  all-time  friend, 

W.  P.  TILDEN. 

A  letter  to  his  daughter  from  Wilmington,  March 
29th,  says :  — 

We  hope  to  come  right  through  on  Monday  as  I  wrote  you,  in 
spite  of  George's  powerful  persuasives  to  stay  over  night  in  New 
York.  What  do  we  care  about  the  little  village  of  New  York? 
A  night  in  the  little  Red  will  be  more  restful  than  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel.  Lovingly  to  all, 

FATHER. 

A  few  days  later  he  writes  to  his  dear  friend,  Rev. 
C.  G.  Ames,  as  follows  :  — 

MAY  9TH,  1889. 

Dear  Ames, —  You  guessed  right.  I  write  from  the  culm  of  my 
seventy-eighth  birthday.  I  like  the  altitude  :  the  air  is  pure  and 
the  prospect  glorious.  I  wouldn't  go  down  into  the  valley  of  youth 
or  the  hillsides  of  toil,  where  you  youngsters  are  digging,  if  I  could. 
I  like  to  be  up  here,  away  from  the  crowd,  where  I  can  take  life 
easy,  work  when  I  feel  like  it  and  then  play, —  "  kiss  my  hand  to 
the  stars,''  look  out  on  the  peaks  still  higher  up,  glistening  in  the 
sunshine,  and  the  peaks  still  beyond,  that  we  see  only  with  the  in- 
ward eye.  No  !  I  wouldn't  go  back  if  I  could,  not  even  to  pick 
up  dropped  stitches :  I  should  be  sure  to  drop  more,  and  make  the 
hole  larger  and  more  difficult  to  mend.  "  Only  once  this  way  "  is 
the  mysterious  fiat.  The  shortcomings  we  mourn  lift  us  by  keep- 
ing us  humble.  My  only  regret  away  up  here  is  that  I  have  done 
so  little  in  a  long  life,  but  I  try  not  to  let  that  over-trouble  me. 
The  dear  God  knows  it  all,  and  loves  me  still,  as  he  does  all  his 
wayward  children. 


242  Autobiography 

My  life  has  been  so  free  from  crosses  that  I  look  for  no  crown. 
I  have  been  overpaid,  cash  down,  every  day;  and,  if  there  were  a 
strict  accountant  up  there,  I  should  be  bankrupt  and  in  hopeless 
debt.  But  "  he  delighteth  in  mercy."  It  is  good  to  be  in  debt  to 
him  so  rich  in  forgetting  love.  .  .  . 

I  am  always,  in  ever  enduring  love  and  immortal  hope, 

Your  own  brother, 

TILDEN. 

In  June,  of  this  year  he  went  again  to  Meadville  to 
repeat  the  course  of  lectures  which  were  given  to  the 
Theological  School  in  1886.  Again  he  gave  eight  lect- 
ures and  two  sermons  (the  last  being  the  Baccalaureate) 
in  ten  consecutive  days. 

A  letter  to  his  daughter  at  this  time  says  :  "  Here  we 
are,  safe  and  sound,  well  homed  with  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Liv- 
ermore,  who  take  the  best  possible  care  of  us.  Your 
hot  beef  tea  was  charming.  My  last  cup  was  in  the 
car,  heated  nicely  by  the  porter.  Meadville  is  looking 
gloriously.  The  old  friends  seem  glad  to  see  us.  The 
school  is  full  and  flourishing,  and  the  students  listen  to 
my  lectures  with  apparent  interest.  I  have  given  two 
lectures,  and  bear  it  very  well.  Tell  the  doctor  I  do 
not  forget  his  wise  counsel,  and  think  I  have  been 
benefited  by  it,  even  if  I  do  not  toe  the  mark  exactly. 
.  .  .  This  is  a  brilliant  letter  !  The  doctor  will  see 
that  I  am  not  overtaxing  my  mind.  He  prescribed 
mental  rest,  and  this  note  shows  how  faithful  I  am  to 
his  prescription.  My  stupidity  is  most  encouraging. 
I  must  be  convalescing." 

His  journal  of  June  30  says  :  "Was  obliged  to  give 
up  an  engagement  to  preach  on  account  of  illness, 
The  wise  Dr.  Green  says  I  must  not  preach  again  until 
September.  So  I  have  cancelled  two  other  engage- 


Rowen  243 

ments,  and  have  gone  into  the   dry  dock  for   repairs, 
hoping  to  be  seaworthy  again  in  September." 

September  ist  he  occupied  the  Newton  pulpit,  and 
the  journal  says:  "I  have  not  preached  before  since 
my  Baccalaureate  at  Meadville.  Have  been  too  ill. 
Thanks  to  the  dear  Father  for  strength  restored." 


XXV. 
ROWEN. 


PLAINFIELD. —  CONCORD. —  INVITATION  TO   REMAIN   IN    PLAIN- 
FIELD. —  WILMINGTON. —  WORK  OF  THE  MINISTRY. 

LATER  in  the  month,  September,  1889,  Mr.  Tilden 
went  to  Plainfield,  N.J.,  to  preach  for  seven  Sundays 
to  the  little  society  just  started  there. 

He  says,  in  a  letter  to  the  Register:  "There  are 
twelve  Plainfields  in  the  United  States,  showing  that  it 
is  a  favorite  name.  But  we  doubt  if  any  one  of  them 
equals  in  rural  beauty  and  general  attractiveness  this 
growing  city  of  New  Jersey.  Situated  on  the  New 
Jersey  Central  Railroad,  only  an  hour  from  New  York, 
less  by  express,  it  furnishes  not  only  a  summer  retreat 
for  New  Yorkers,  but  an  all-the-year-round  home  for 
many  who  do  business  in  the  great  city.  With  a  dry, 
sandy  soil,  and  good,  pure  water,  it  has  long  been  noted 
for  its  general  healthiness. 

"  One  of  its  great  charms  consists  in  its  being  a 
country  city.  There  are  no  '  blocks,'  save  in  the  busi- 
ness streets.  Separate  houses  with  generous  grounds 
are  the  general  rule ;  and,  while  it  is  mainly  a  plain 
field  as  to  the  surface,  it  is  so  picturesquely  laid  out, 
with  so  many  curved  and  diagonal  streets,  that  the 
usual  checker  board  monotony  of  cities  with  a  plain 


Roiven  245 

surface  is  largely  obviated.  The  soil,  though  light,  is 
rich  ;  and  the  shade-trees,  with  which  the  streets  are 
abundantly  fringed,  have  a  heavy  foliage,  which  is  just 
now  in  its  golden  glory.  The  population  is  estimated 
at  ten  thousand,  and  is  constantly  increasing.  Many 
new  buildings,  some  very  beautiful,  are  going  up. 

"The  city  had  fourteen  churches,  representing  the 
leading  denominations,  when  Rev.  D.  W.  Morehouse, 
Secretary  of  the  New  York  Conference  of  Unitarian 
Churches,  came  here  a  few  months  ago,  to  see  if  there 
were  any  demand  for  a  church  of  our  liberal  faith.  He 
found  a  few  earnest  Unitarians  waiting  for  him.  After 
holding  a  few  Sunday  evening  services,  the  little  band 
of  brave  men  and  women  felt  they  were  ready  for 
action;  and  on  the  i/th  of  July,  1889,  they  organized 
the  First  Unitarian  Society  of  Plain  field.  Now  there 
are  fifteen  churches  in  this  city ;  and  the  last,  though 
the  youngest  and  smallest,  is  yet  destined,  as  we  fondly 
hope,  to  do  good  and  noble  service  for  a  progressive 
Christian  faith. 

"We  are  fortunate  in  having  the  mayor  of  the  city, 
Hon.  Job  Male,  an  interested  member  of  the  society. 
He  is  a  Unitarian  to  the  'manner  born,'  being  a  mem- 
ber of  All  Souls',  New  York,  in  the  early  ministry  of 
Dr.  Bellows.  He  came  to  Plainfield  years  ago,  and  is 
one  of  the  city  fathers,  widely  honored  and  beloved. 
As  the  young  society  found  it  difficult  to  obtain  a  suit- 
able place  of  worship,  Mr.  Male  opened  one  of  his  pri- 
vate houses,  fitting  the  lower  part  for  Sunday  services, 
and  offering  it  free  to  the  society  till  they  could  do  bet- 
ter. This  has  been  simply  but  conveniently  furnished 
by  the  society.  We  held  our  first  meeting  in  the 


246  Autobiography 

'Home  Church'  last  Sunday,  and  the  rooms  were  so 
well  filled  as  to  suggest  the  necessity  of  early  enlarge- 
ment. Everything  looks  very  hopeful,  and  we  may 
confidently  count  on  a  prosperous  and  self-sustaining 
church  as  the  ultimate  and  sure  result." 

At  the  end  of  his  seven  weeks'  engagement  he  re- 
turned to  Milton  to  spend  the  month  of  November,  in 
order  that  he  might  attend  the  dedication  of  the  new 
church  at  Concord,  N.H.,  and  also  that  he  might  gather 
about  him,  as  was  his  wont,  his  children  and  grand- 
children for  a  Thanksgiving  party. 

After  preaching  in  Concord,  N.H.,  before  his  old  pa- 
rishioners Sunday  evening,  November  loth,  and  assist- 
ing at  the  dedicatory  services  on  Monday  afternoon,  he 
gave  an  address  at  a  social  gathering  in  the  evening,  in 
which  he  said :  "  The  three  years  I  was  with  you,  from 
1844  to  1847,  were  years  of  great  excitement.  The 
devil's  trinity,  as  we  used  to  call  it, —  war,  intemper- 
ance, slavery, —  some  of  us  fought  against  with  all  the 
non-resistant  fight  there  was  in  us.  The  two  first  re- 
main, wounded,  but  still  vigorous,  while  what  seemed 
then  the  master  evil  has  been  swept  away  forever. 
But  the  opposition  to  any  word  spoken  against  the  di- 
vine institution  at  this  time,  on  the  part  of  many,  was 
intense.  One  of  my  parishioners  told  me  he  thought 
that  nothing  of  a  worldly  character  should  ever  be  let 
into  a  Christian  pulpit.  As  sin  is  supposed  to  be  some- 
what worldly,  this  was  a  decided  narrowing  down  of 
the  sphere  of  the  pulpit. 

"  One  good  woman  on  whom  I  called  with  brother 
Thomas,  who  kindly  went  round  with  me  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  his  people,  was  inclined  to  be  very  plain- 


Row  en  247 

spoken  in  her  ideas  of  preaching.  Brother  Thomas 
said  in  his  mild  way,  '  Sister,  I  think  brother  Tilden 
preaches  the  gospel.'  She  turned  upon  him,  and  said, 
'Well,  if  Mr.  Tilden  preaches  the  gospel,  you  didn't.' 
'  I  think  there  are  some  parts  of  the  gospel  that  I  did 
not  emphasize  as  I  should,'  said  brother  Thomas. 

"  On  the  other  hand  there  were  those  who  were  loyal 
to  the  true  and  the  right,  who  held  up  my  hands  and 
encouraged  my  heart  to  speak  without  fear  or  favor 
what  I  believed  to  be  the  truth  of  God.  Could  your 
fathers  and  mothers  only  have  known  that  in  twenty 
years  from  that  time  'liberty  would  be  proclaimed 
throughout  all  the  land  to  all  the  inhabitants  thereof,"  I 
think  they  would  have  kept  me  another  year.  But  it 
was  all  right,  for,  if  I  had  not  gone,  you  would  not  have 
had  the  blessed  ministries  of  Woodbury,  Beane,  Gil- 
man,  and  all  the  rest,  to  lead  you  on  to  the  higher  life. 

"  Dear  old  friends,  and  new  ones,  too,  the  few  who 
remain  and  the  many  who  have  come  in,  I  rejoice  with 
you  in  this  your  glad  and  hopeful  hour.  Both  the  church 
I  preached  in  and  the  new  one  that  followed  went  up, 
prophet-like,  in  flame,  and  now  another,  fairest  of  the 
three,  has  risen  on  the  spot.  Here  the  fathers  wor- 
shipped, and  here  the  children  and  the  children's  chil- 
dren shall  gather  for  the  worship  and  work  of  the 
church.  Hopeful  outlook.  Theory  is  giving  place  to 
life,  and  theology  is  blossoming  into  the  fruit  of  pure 
religion.  It  remains  only  that  you  dedicate  yourselves, 
the  only  true  temple  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  God  and 
man." 

After  a  happy  Thanksgiving  in  the  Red  Cottage, — 
never  a  happier  or  merrier, —  he  returned  to  Plainfield 


248  Autobiography 

for  the  winter,  the  following   letters  having   been    re- 
ceived :  — 

REV.  W.  P.  TILDEN,  Milton,  Mass. : 

Dear  Sir, —  Our  Board  of  Trustees,  having  satisfied  themselves 
as  to  their  financial  resources,  now  authorize  and  intrust  me  to 
tender  to  you  on  their  behalf  an  invitation  to  take  the  regular 
pastoral  charge  of  our  society  for  as  long  a  time  as  you  can  stay 
with  us.  .  .  .  The  Board  desires  me  to  state  that  the  unanimous 
voice  of  the  society  expresses  the  hope  that  you  will  accept, —  in 
which  hope  earnestly  joins, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

CHARLES  W.  OPDYKE, 

Sec'y  of  the  First  Unitarian  Society  of  Plainfield,  X.J. 
Nov.  3,  1889. 

A  letter  of  Nov.  6,  1889,  from  Rev.  D.  W.  More- 
house,  Secretary  of  the  New  York  Conference  of  Uni- 
tarian Churches,  says  :  — 

Dear  Mr.  Tilden, —  I  went  over  and  preached  for  the  little 
flock  in  their  cosey  new  home  last  Sunday.  If  you  could  have  wit- 
nessed the  eagerness  with  which  the  people  gathered  around  me 
at  the  close  of  the  service,  inquiring  if  I  thought  "  it  would  be 
possible  to  induce  Mr.  Tilden  to  come  back,"  you  would  have  no 
doubt  about  the  earnestness  of  the  call  to  minister  to  these 
people.  They  look  to  you  with  a  tenderness  of  attachment  which 
it  is  very  pleasant  to  witness,  and  which  is  to  me  the  assurance 
that  they  will  so  heartily  respond  to  your  leadership  that  a  few 
months  more  of  your  ministry  with  them  will  put  them  on  a  foun- 
dation so  sure  that  their  growth  and  prosperity  will  be  entirely 
assured.  I  do  not  hesitate,  therefore,  to  beg  you  to  come  back 
and  be  their  minister  a  little  longer;  and,  in  making  this  request 
of  you,  I  here  renew  the  promise  I  made  several  weeks  ago, — 
that,  if  at  any  time  you  desire  a  labor  of  love,  you  shall  have  such 
relief  as  you  need.  We  do  not  want  to  overtax  you,  but  rather 
it  is  our  desire  to  make  the  work  as  light  as  possible  for  you. 


Rowen  249 

We  want  your  presence  in  Plainfield.  All  that  the  loving  care 
of  thoughtful  and  considerate  people  can  do  to  make  your  stay  in 
Plainfield  agreeable  will  most  cheerfully  be  done.  If  you  can, 
under  these  conditions,  see  your  way  clear  to  accept  the  invitation 
which  the  trustees,  in  obedience  to  the  unanimous  wish  of  the 
society,  will  send  you,  you  will  confer  a  great  favor  and  blessing 
upon  them  and  me.  Affectionately  yours, 

D.  W.  MOREHOUSE. 

His  record  book  says  :  "December  I.  Having  come 
to  Plainfield  to  take  the  pastorate  of  the  First  Uni- 
tarian Society  for  the  winter,  I  preached  my  inaugural 
from  the  words,  '  Greet  Priscilla  and  Aquila,  my  helpers 
in  Christ  Jesus,  .  .  .  likewise  the  church  which  is  in 
their  house.' ': 

In  this  month  he  went  to  Wilmington  to  help  the 
dear  friends  whom  he  was  permitted  to  call  his  parish- 
ioners the  year  before,  in  installing  their  new  minister. 

December  27  he  writes  home:  "We  don't  intend  to 
be  absent  another  Christmas,  if  we  are  this  side  the 
river.  We  see  you  can't  have  a  real  old-fashioned 
Christmas  without  us.  George  writes  that  he  thinks 
he  will  take  Charlie  with  him  to  New  York  next  week. 
I  have  written  him  to  come  out  and  spend  a  night 
with  us.  'Oh,  that  will  be  joyful." 

A  letter  of  Jan.  16,  1890,  to  his  daughter,  says,  in 
speaking  of  the  death  of  a  friend  :  "So  the  great  wheel 
of  life  keeps  turning,  and  we  never  know  whose  turn 
comes  next.  That  is  just  as  it  should  be.  To  trust  is 
better  than  to  know.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  we  did  enjoy  George's 
and  Charlie's  Sunday  visit  to  us !  We  grew  a  cubit 
and  a  span  while  they  stayed.  Had  they  remained, 
we  should  have  become  'giants  in  Gath.' " 

After  the  delivery  of  his  last  course  of  lectures  in 


250  Autobiography 

Meadville,  in  the  summer  of  1889,  the  following  resolu- 
tions were  presented  to  him  :  — 

Resolved,  That  we,  the  students  of  Meadville  Theological 
School,  tender  our  thanks  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tilden,  of  Milton, 
Mass.,  for  his  instructive  course  of  lectures  upon  the  ministerial 
offices,  so  beautiful  in  their  spirit  and  so  valuable  in  material. 

Resolved,  That  we  feel  that  the  course  of  lectures  just  closed, 
to  which  we  have  listened  with  so  much  pleasure  and  profit, 
would  be  still  more  valuable  to  us  if  we  possessed  them  in  a  form 
more  enduring  and  complete  than  that  contained  in  the  insufficient 
mental  record  and  the  incomplete  note-book. 

We  therefore  take  this  opportunity  to  express  the  hope  —  if  we 
may  do  so  without  trespass  upon  plans  otherwise  determined 
upon  —  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tilden  may  find  it  convenient  to  put  in 
the  enduring  form  of  print  these  wise  counsels  to  his  younger 
brethren,  these  words  so  full  of  the  spirit  of  manly  Christianity, 
and  which  surely  have  proceeded  from  the  experiences  of  a  long 
and  useful  life,  devoted  to  disinterested  and  noble  service  of  the 
Christian  ideals.  For  many  years  to  come,  before  we  ourselves 
possess  the  experience  of  long  Christian  service,  we  are  sure  that 
these  true  words  of  our  venerable  adviser  will  do  much  to  guide 
us  safely  upon  our  way. 

In  response  to  which  Mr.  Tilden  made  this  reply  :  — 

In  complying  with  the  foregoing  request,  I  yield  the  distrust  of 
age  to  the  sanguine  judgment  of  youth,  and  dedicate  these  famil- 
iar lectures  to  the  students  of  the  Meadville  Theological  School, 
past,  present,  and  future,  and  to  all  earnest  students  of  "  the  faith 
that  makes  faithful."  w.  p.  T. 

While  in  Plainfield,  he  prepared  the  lectures  for  pub- 
lication ;  and,  as  it  was  a  great  pleasure  to  give  them 
to  the  students,  so  also  was  it  a  great  pleasure  to  revise 
them  for  publication. 

They  were  issued  in  book  form  in  March,  1890, 
under  the  title  of  "The  Work  of  the  Ministry." 


Rowen  251 

Many  appreciative  notices  of  the  volume  appeared 
in  the  various  Unitarian  periodicals  and  in  the  daily 
papers,  and  many  friends  bore  loving  testimony  to  its 
value. 

Dr.  A.  A.  Livermore,  President  of  Meadville  Theo- 
logical School,  said  :  "  If  service  to  God  and  man  is,  as 
I  believe  it  is,  the  great  end  of  human  life,  how  nobly 
to  the  falling  of  the  last  sands  in  the  hour-glass  has  he 
fulfilled  his  part  in  the  great  life-drama  !  I  am  more 
happy  than  I  can  tell  that  he  was  enabled  to  print  that 
beautiful  book  on  the  ministry, —  the  best,  I  believe,  on 
the  whole,  to  be  found  in  the  world.  It  will  stand  as 
a  monument  to  his  memory  and  genius  long  after  we 
and  ours  are  passed  away." 

Dr.  A.  P.  Peabody  says:  "Thanks  for  your  admi- 
rable book,  which  is  of  unspeakable  value  as  a  testi- 
mony of  what  the  ministry  has  been  and  ought  to  be, 
yet  in  some  quarters  has  almost  ceased  to  be.  Nothing 
could  be  better." 

Dr.  John  H.  Morison  writes  :  "  It  gives  me  very  great 
pleasure  to  say  that  I  have  seldom,  if  ever,  read  a  book 
with  more  entire  satisfaction  than  your  lectures  to  the 
Meadville  students.  I  know  of  no  book  of  the  kind 
that  I  think  so  entirely  what  it  should  be,  and  that  I 
shall  be  so  glad  to  put  into  the  hands  of  any  young 
minister  whom  I  know  to  be  very  earnest  to  do  all  that 
can  be  done  to  fill  with  fidelity  and  success  the  great 
duties  of  his  office." 

From  Rev.  William  T.  Briggs,  Congregational  min- 
ister of  East  Douglass  :  "  I  thank  you  hugely  for  those 
Meadville  Lectures.  I  opened  the  little  book,  saying 
to  myself,  '  I  have  only  time  to  peep  into  them  ' ;  but  I 
was  half  through  before  I  really  took  a  long  breath. 


252  Autobiography 

As  I  read,  I  kept  saying,  '  What  next !  what  next ! ' 
When  a  book  holds  me  in  that  way,  I  say  there  is 
something  in  it.  I  have  praised  you  so  much  that  it 
rather  mortifies  me  to  say  much  more  in  that  line  ; 
but,  as  to  these  lectures,  '  No  man  shall  stop  my  boast- 
ing in  all  the  region  of  Achaia ! '  Your  suggestions  and 
advice  chime  in  most  happily  with  what  my  experience 
and  observation  of  more  than  forty  years  have  taught 
me.  I  have  read  a  good  deal  about  ministers'  advice 
to  students  preparing  for  the  ministry,  etc.,  but  have 
met  with  nothing  more  sensible,  practical,  and  really 
inspiring  than  your  lectures." 

From  Mrs.  Thomas  G.  Wells,  a  loved  parishioner  of 
early  days,  and  an  old  friend  of  many  years  :  — 

My  dear  Friend, —  I  cannot  resist  sending  you  this  beautiful 
letter  of  cousin  Samuel  May's.  You  can  believe  it  all :  — 

"Dear  Cousin  Elizabeth  Wells, —  Mr.  Tilden's  book  is  so 
naturally,  simply,  and  heartily  written  that  it  was  easy  reading,  and 
I  have  read  a  very  large  part  of  it  already;  and  I  can  now  express 
my  thanks  to  you,  not  only  on  general  principles,  but  because  I 
know  how  sensible,  sweet,  and  good  the  little  book  is.  How 
happily  he  steers  clear  of  rocks  and  quicksands  all  through  the 
book  as  well  as  in  the  closing  chapter,  '  Sealed  Orders  ' !  Every 
young  minister  at  least  might  be  glad  of  such  a  book.  He  has 
rounded  out  his  fifty  years  of  the  ministry  most  fittingly  with  the 
little  volume,  which  will  carry  along  his  image  and  likeness  long 
after  he  has  passed  from  earth.  To  think  of  his  doing  such  good 
work,  and  so  much  of  it, —  for  the  little  volume  is  brimming  over 
with  thoughtful  and  sensible  ideas  and  suggestions, —  when  verg- 
ing so  closely  to  his  eightieth  year !  " 

I  think  we  all  who  have  any  kinship  with  Samuel  J.  May  may 
be  glad  and,  humanly  speaking,  thoroughly  satisfied  at  the  kind  of 
men  he  induced  to  take  up  the  ministry, —  witness  Frederick  T. 
Gray,  Thomas  J.  Mumford,  and  W.  P.  Tilden,  to  speak  of  no 
other. 


XXVI. 

LAST   DAYS. 

1890. 
ILLNESS. —  DEATH. —  FUNERAL  SERVICES. 

EARLY  in  the  winter  he  began  to  be  afflicted  with 
rheumatism,  but  paid  little  attention  to  it  for  some 
time.  Finally,  as  it  grew  no  better,  but  rather  seemed 
to  be  gaining,  his  doctor  advised  rest  ;  and  he  very 
reluctantly  left  Plainfield  for  a  few  weeks'  stay  in  Lake- 
wood,  N.J.  And  his  last  sermon  before  the  Plainfield 
society,  on  the  "  Passion  Week  of  Human  Life,"  April 
30,  1890  (the  Sunday  preceding  Easter),  proved  to  be 
the  last  he  would  ever  give. 

While  in  Lakewood,  he  wrote  to  the  Register  as 
follows  :  — 

"  Having  been  compelled  by  stress  of  '  under  the 
weather'  to  leave  with  great  regret  the  temporary  pas- 
torate of  this  young  church,  I  want  to  say  a  further 
word  of  its  condition  and  prospects,  that  sister  churches 
all  around,  knowing  something  about  it,  may  extend 
the  hand  of  Christian  fellowship  now  in  its  day  of  small 
things. 

"  Paul  sent  his  greeting  in  one  of  his  Epistles  to  the 
'church  in  the  house.'  That  is  just  what  the  church 
is  at  present.  It  is  emphatically  a  '  church  in  the 
house,'  a  home  church,  with  home  accommodations  for 
worship  and  work. 


254  Last  Days 

"The  society,  though  small,  contains  good  stock, 
'  seasoned  timber  that  never  gives,'  such  as  George 
Herbert  set  to  church  music.*  Those  constituting  the 
society  are  men  and  women  so  thoroughly  respected  in 
the  community  that  there  is  little  serious  opposition  to 
the  new  movement.  When  a  minister  introduced  us 
to  his  congregation  as  '  glow-worms,'  intending  to  indi- 
cate the  feebleness  of  our  light,  we  accepted  the  epi- 
thet with  pleasure  as  happily  suggestive  of  our  mis- 
sion,—  'alight  shining  in  a  dark  place.'  But,  on  the 
whole,  there  is  a  very  kindly  feeling  shown  by  the 
other  churches,  which,  I  am  sure,  will  increase  as  they 
know  us  better,  and  see  that  our  sole  aim  is  the  up- 
building of  the  kingdom  of  truth,  righteousness,  and 
love." 

About  this  time  the  following  letter  was  received 
from  Rev.  D.  W.  Morehouse  :  — 

My  dear  blessed  young  Friend, —  I  say  young,  for  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  regard  you  as  old.  Old  in  heart  and  spirit  it  is  im- 
possible for  any  one  to  be  who  is  filled,  as  you  are,  with  the  enthu- 
siasm of  a  faith  that  makes  for  everlasting  youth. 

I  can  never  sufficiently  thank  you  for  the  splendid  work  you  did 
for  our  cause  in  Plainfield.  The  society  under  your  charge  has 
become  thoroughly  homogeneous,  and,  best  of  all,  has  had  its 
religious  character  distinctly  formed.  In  all  this  you  have  made 
your  successor's  success  comparatively  easy.  I  wish  every  new 
society  that  I  organize  could  be  so  fortunate  as  to  come  under 
your  shaping  influence  for  a  few  months.  And  I  shall  hope  that 
it  may  be  so  in  many  cases  yet,  for  I  refuse  to  believe  that  rheu- 

*  How  well  we  remember  his  ringing  laugh,  when  a  witty  friend  remarked,  "That 
was  a  singular  reason  why  other  people  should  give  to  the  Plainfield  Church, —  the  fact 
that  the  society  is  composed  of  '  seasoned  timber  that  never  gives'  I  I  know  that  all  the 
societies  have  more  or  less  of  that  kind  of  timber,  but  it  took  you  to  utilize  it  in  the  way 
of  reaching  other  people's  pockets." 


Last  Days  255 

matism  is  to  be  permitted  to  deprive  us  of  the  active  co-operation 
of  one  who  is  still  one  of  our  most  vigorous  as  well  as  our  wisest 
preachers. 

Yes,  you  will  do  "lots  of  preaching  yet"  with  your  lips  as  well 
as  your  life.  We  cannot  let  you  off.  There  are  so  few  of  us  who 
can  make  the  preaching  of  our  daily  life  match  the  preaching  of 
our  lips  that  we  cannot  spare  the  eloquent  persuasions  of  the  one 
preacher  among  us  who  can  beat  us  all  in  that  respect.  So  you 
must  not  think  of  retiring  from  the  good  work  yet. 

But  the  sanguine  hopes  of  his  friends  were  not  real- 
ized ;  and  after  a  six  weeks'  stay  in  Lakewood,  during 
which  he  grew  worse  instead  of  better,  his  son  George 
came  out  to  bring  him  back  to  the  Red  Cottage, 
Milton. 

By  the  doctor's  advice  he  took  his  bed  for  a  few 
weeks  of  absolute  rest,  hoping  that  this  means,  which 
had  brought  him  effectually  through  what  seemed  a 
more  serious  illness,  would  prove  equally  successful 
this  time.  But  it  was  of  no  avail.  His  strength  stead- 
ily declined,  his  suffering  becoming  more  and  more  in- 
tense. 

July  19  he  writes:  "I  have  had  along  life,  enjoyed 
many  blessings,  and  now,  dear  Father,  thy  will,  not 
mine,  be  done.  May  none  of  the  dear  ones  mourn 
greatly  for  my  going!  We  don't  mourn  over  sunset, 
however  pleasant  the  day.  Most  of  the  time,  as  I  lie 
half  dozing  on  my  bed,  I  am  amid  the  old  play-grounds 
of  my  childhood,  on  the  river  or  on  the  sea.  Time 
and  again  I  find  myself  sailing  out  of  Scituate  harbor, 
which  I  did  so  often  for  seven  consecutive  years.  But 
I  seem  always  to  be  bound  out,  headed  toward  the  sea, 
never  coming  in.  The  water  is  smooth,  and  the 
weather  serene  and  beautiful.  I  do  not  have  to  take 


256  Last  Days 

any  pains  to  steer.  The  boat  glides  serenely  in  the 
channel,  and  there  seems  to  be  some  unseen  hand  at 
the  helm.  The  sea  breeze  is  fresh,  and  the  prospect  is 
beautiful.  And  so  I  sail  on,  but  never  seeming  to 
get  out  of  the  harbor.  It  is  well.  Why  should  I  wish 
to  come  back,  when  I  never  sail  '  beyond  his  love  and 
care,'  and  when  there  are  loved  ones  beyond  the  golden 
shore  who  wait  ?  " 

But  many  long  weeks  of  pain  were  before  him  ere 
his  feet  should  stand  on  the  other  shore. 

As  evening  drew  nigh,  he  frequently  repeated  Dr. 
Furness's  beautiful  hymn,  commencing, — 

"  Slowly  by  God's  hand  unfurled, 
Down  around  the  weary  world 
Falls  the  darkness.     Oh,  how  still 
Is  the  working  of  his  will  !  " 

The  last  time,  only  a  few  hours  before  his  going  away, 
it  was  with  feeble  and  faltering  lips,  and  with  many 
mistakes,  but  he  went  on  bravely  to  the  end. 

He  was  released  from  his  sufferings  on  the  morning 
of  Oct.  3,  1890.  His  earthly  life  was  over,  but  there 
remained  in  the  hearts  of  parishioners  and  friends 
affectionate  and  grateful  memories,  which  found  ex- 
pression in  loving  words  from  churches  and  from 
homes. 

Memorial  services  were  held  in  Norton,  the  first 
church  over  which  he  was  settled,  in  Plainfield,  by  the 
societv  to  which  he  ministered  the  last  few  months 

j 

and  who  had  his  latest  word,  in  Meadville,  in  Atlanta, 
in  Walpole,  in  Wilmington,  and  in  Plymouth. 

On  Sunday,  October  5th,  after  services  at  his  own 


Last  Days  257 

home  and  at  the  First  Parish  Church,  Milton,  in  the 
clear,  bright  sunshine  of  a  perfect  day,  the  worn-out 
body  was  borne  to  the  field  of  peace. 

The  service  at  the  Red  Cottage  was  attended  only 
by  the  family  and  nearest  relatives.  The  casket  was 
placed  in  the  study  so  long  hallowed  by  his  presence. 
No  one  who  looked  upon  his  face  will  ever  forget  its 
perfect  beauty, —  the  beauty  of  a  completed  life,  the 
beauty  of  one  who  already  walked  in  the  light  of  the 
immortal  day. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  Rev.  W.  I.  Lawrance, 
who  repeated  the  twenty-third  psalm  and  offered 
prayer. 

Rev.  Roderick  Stebbins  made  a  brief  address,  and 
read  the  following  lines  from  Longfellow's  "  Bayard 
Taylor  ":- 

"  Dead  he  lay  among  his  books  ! 
The  peace  of  God  was  in  his  looks. 

"  As  the  statues  in  the  gloom 
Watch  o'er  Maximilian's  tomb, 

"  So  those  volumes  from  their  shelves 
Watched  him  silent  as  themselves. 

"  Ah  !  his  hand  will  nevermore 
Turn  their  storied  pages  o'er; 

"  Nevermore  his  lips  repeat 
Songs  of  theirs,  however  sweet. 

"  Let  the  lifeless  body  rest ! 
He  is  gone  who  was  its  guest ; 

"  Gone,  as  travellers  haste  to  leave 
An  inn,  nor  tarry  until  eve. 


258  Last  Days 

"Traveller!  in  what  realms  afar, 
In  what  planet,  in  what  star, 

"  In  what  vast,  aerial  space 
Shines  the  light  upon  thy  face  ? 

"  In  what  gardens  of  delight 
Rest  thy  weary  feet  to-night  ? 


"  Lying  dead  among  thy  books, 
The  peace  of  God  in  all  thy  looks." 

At  the  conclusion  Rev.  W.  H.  Fish  spoke  substan- 
tially as  follows  :  — 

"  As  I  rise,  my  friends,  to  say  a  few  words,  I  do  so 
with  the  feeling  that  this  has  ever  been  a  most  sacred 
and  consecrated  home,  an  earthly  paradise,  so  near  to 
heaven  that  there  is  only  a  thin  veil  between.  Not 
alone  in  precious  memories  and  sweeter  affections 
will  he  still  live,  but  as  a  translated  spirit,  ever  living 
and  loving  on,  a  ministering  spirit  of  consolation  and 
peace. 

"Dr.  Channing  used  to  say  that,  if  we  had  a  new 
sense,  a  new  eye,  we  might  perhaps  see  that  the  spirit- 
ual world  encompassed  us  on  every  side,  and  then 
quote  Milton's  saying,  that 

"'Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth, 
.  .  .  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep.' 

And  I  shall  love  to  think  of  this  home  henceforth  as 
one  to  which  the  angels  come  with  their  messages 
of  consolation  and  joy, —  consolation  to  the  dear  ones 
who  remain  and  joy  to  those  who  went  before. 


Last  Days  259 

"  This  is,  of  course,  not  the  time  and  place  for 
eulogy.  Fitting  words  will,  no  doubt,  be  spoken  at  the 
church  to-day,  but  they  will,  I  am  sure,  fall  below  the 
excellence  and  the  merit  of  our  brother ;  and,  after  all 
shall  be  said,  his  character  and  life  will  rise  to  our  view 
as  the  best  eulogy  he  can  possibly  receive. 

"When  Andrew  D.  White  stood  by  the  open  grave 
of  the  sainted  Samuel  J.  May,  he  looked  down  and 
said,  with  affectionate  and  tender  emphasis,  'There 
lies  the  best  Christian  that  I  ever  knew ' ;  and  Samuel 
J.  May  and  Mr.  Tilden  were  one  in  spirit, —  indeed,  as 
spiritual  father  and  son  in  the  gospel ;  and  I  can  say  of 
the  blessed  one  whose  outward  form  now  lies  in  the 
casket  before  me,  as  beautiful  in  death  as  in  life,  there 
lies  one  of  the  best  Christians  I  have  ever  known. 
And  may  the  rich  consolations  which  the  dear,  as- 
cended one  has  given  to  others  through  his  long  and 
blessed  ministry  now  be  theirs  from  whom  this  loving 
husband,  father,  grandfather,  has  been  taken !  Still 
may  this  home  continue  to  open  to  the  heavens  and 
the  heavens  to  it ;  and  may  all  the  members  of  this 
family,  from  the  oldest  to  the  youngest,  rejoice  in  the 
hope  of  the  glorious  immortality  which  this  loving  and 
faithful  follower  of  Christ  so  long  preached  in  the  unc- 
tion and  love  of  the  Spirit !  " 

Another  service  was  then  held  in  the  First  Parish 
Church,  a  few  rods  away,  the  body  being  borne  up  the 
aisle  by  the  sons,  grandsons,  and  the  physicians  who 
attended  him  in  his  long  illness.  The  church  was 
filled  with  former  parishioners  and  friends  from  Boston 
and  elsewhere.  Many  beautiful  flowers,  the  loving 
gifts  of  dear  friends,  covered  the  pulpit  and  casket. 


260  Last  Days 

Rev.  Roderick  Stebbins,  the  pastor  of  the  church, 
read  passages  from  the  Bible,  and  Rev.  Dr.  Briggs  of- 
fered prayer,  tender,  touching,  and  comforting. 

The  congregation  then  sang  one  verse  of  "  Rise,  my 
soul,  and  stretch  thy  wings,"  a  favorite  hymn  with  Mr. 
Tilden. 

Rev.  Dr.  E.  E.  Hale  then  rose,  and  said,  "  All  who 
ever  saw  this  man  saw  one  who  walked  with  God." 
He  spoke  of  his  long  fellowship  and  acquaintance  with 
the  risen  one,  the  influence  he  exerted  during  a  few 
months'  sojourn  in  Plainfield,  and  the  uplifting  influ- 
ence of  his  whole  life.  He  said  :  "  He  was  a  lover  of 
nature  and  of  the  Word ;  a  great  reader,  always 
abreast  of  the  times.  He  entered  into  the  deepest 
subjects;  he  had  an  exquisite  sense  of  humor;  he  was 
tender  as  a  woman  ;  he  rejoiced  with  those  who  re- 
joiced, and  wept  with  those  who  wept ;  his  face  was  a 
benediction.  Truly,  the  presence  of  God  was  with 
him, —  not  as  a  servant  of  God,  but  as  a  child  of  God." 

Rev.  Charles  G.  Ames  said :  — 

"A  beautiful  thing  has  happened.  When  God's 
light  shines  in  a  man's  mind,  it  makes  him  wise.  When 
God's  love  enters  the  man's  heart,  it  makes  him  good. 
When  the  gift  of  expression  is  added,  it  makes  the 
man  a  leader  and  a  prophet.  Then  through  his  life 
and  through  his  lips  God  is  revealed.  Such  a  life  we 
have  seen,  to  such  lips  we  have  listened.  The  voice 
that  has  fallen  into  silence  was  a  voice  of  faith,  hope, 
and  love,  bringing  us  a  message  from  the  heavens. 

"  We  can  hardly  be  mourners,  for  this  occasion  is 
more  like  a  coronation  than  a  funeral.  We  can  hardly 
speak  of  loss,  so  thankful  are  we  for  the  gift  of  such 


Last  Days  261 

a  life  and  such  service.  We  have  had  him,  we  have 
had  all  he  could  give,  his  long,  full,  well-rounded  term, 
—  a  noble  day's  work. 

" '  Twelve  long,  sunny  hours,  bright  to  the  edge  of  darkness, 
Then  the  short  repose  of  twilight  and  a  crown  of  stars.' 

"  He  was  a  great  believer,  and  that  made  him  a  great 
worker,  like  that  early  missionary  whose  motto  was, 
'  Expect  great  things  from  God :  attempt  great  things 
for  God.' 

"  He  lived  in  an  eventful  period,  a  period  of  much 
transition  in  religious  thought,  and  shared  the  changes, 
yet  held  fast  his  trust  and  his  consecrated  purpose. 
'It  is  not  an  enlightened  age,'  said  Lessing,  'but  it  is 
an  age  becoming  enlightened.'  Our  ascended  brother 
had  served  his  generation  by  welcoming  the  growing 
light,  and  by  giving  it  to  mankind.  And  the  beauty  of 
it  all  is  that  he  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  taught 
with  his  persuasive  lips  the  truth  which  had  first  been 
made  the  law  of  his  own  life.  He  preached  righteous- 
ness, not  as  a  theory  only,  but  a  vital  principle,  the 
very  kingdom  of  God  set  up  in  the  soul  of  man. 

"  No,  I  will  not  speak  of  loss,  but  of  richest  gain, 
now  and  forever  secure.  In  closing  a  letter,  he  once 
wrote,  '  I  am  fraternally  and  eternally  yours.'  Yes, 
he  is  eternally  ours.  Say  this  for  your  comfort :  '  He 
is  eternally  ours.'  And  we  who  were  his  fellow- 
workers,  and  all  who  have  shared  his  inspiring  service, 
will  join  with  you  in  saying  from  tender,  grateful 
hearts,  '  He  is  eternally  ours.'  " 

The  congregation  then  sang  "  My  God,  I  thank 
thee,"  this  hymn  being  also  a  favorite. 


262  Last  Days 

Dr.  Peabody  was  the  next  to  add  a  word  of  apprecia- 
tion and  remembrance,  saying :  "  I  knew  him  as  a  stu- 
dent,—  perhaps  earlier  than  any  one  present, —  when 
he  was  preaching  for  a  year  in  Dover,  N.H,  and  I  was 
settled  in  Portsmouth  ;  and  I  noticed  even  then  his 
fervor.  No  man  loved  souls  more  than  he,  and  he  won 
souls.  He  loved  humanity  under  any  form.  He  spent 
his  life  serving  and  imitating  his  divine  Master,  going 
about  doing  good. 

"His  course  of  lectures  to  the  students  at  Meadville 
on  the  '  Work  of  the  Ministry '  was  one  of  the  most 
important  services  of  his  life.  I  should  be  unwilling 
for  any  young  man  to  enter  the  ministry  without  first 
mastering  the  spirit  of  these  lectures." 

Dr.  Peabody  closed  the  services  with  a  brief  prayer. 

The  assembled  friends  looked  once  more  upon  the 
face  so  loved  and  venerated  in  life,  so  beautiful  in 
death,  and  the  body  was  carried  to  the  family  lot  in 
Milton  Cemetery,  where,  after  a  ringing  word  from  Dr. 
Hale  and  a  hand-clasp  from  Mr.  Ames  to  the  nearest 
friends,  bidding  them  look  "  not  into  the  open  grave, 
but  into  the  open  heavens,"  it  was  laid  to  rest. 

He  expressed  the  wish  that  his  only  epitaph  might 
be,  "vA  minister  who  loved  his  work." 


APPENDIX. 


TRIBUTES. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  SERMONS  BY  REV.  H.  H.  BARBER  AND 
REV.  GEORGE  L.  CHANEV. —  PORTRAIT. —  MR.  TILDEN  AS 
PREACHER  BY  DR.  A.  A.  LIVERMORE. 

WE  append  a  few  of  the  many  tributes  which  were 
paid  to  the  memory  of  the  risen  one. 

The  Christian  Register  of  Oct.  9,  1890,  contained  the 
following  notice  :  — 

A    CROWN    OF    GLORY. 

"The  hoary  head  is  a  crown  of  glory  if  it  be  found  in  the  way 
of  righteousness."  What  a  crown  of  glory  it  was  on  the  head  of 
William  P.  Tilden !  To  one  who  saw  him  rise  in  the  pulpit  it 
seemed  as  if  he  had  just  come  out  of  the  transfiguring  cloud,  and 
that  some  of  the  white  mist  hung  about  his  radiant  face  ;  for  his 
face  shone  as  did  that  of  Moses  when  he  came  down  from  the 
mount. 

There  was  no  William  among  the  twelve  apostles ;  but  William 
P.  Tilden  was  a  man  whom  Jesus  would  have  chosen  if  he  had 
met  him  by  the  seaside.  Indeed,  the  story  of  his  life  and  entrance 
in  the  ministry  has  a  New  Testament,  Galilean  picturesqueness. 
It  was  the  story  of  a  young  man  born  on  the  Massachusetts  coast, 
where  he  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  sea.  He  was  the  son  of  a 
ship-carpenter,  and  there  was  no  pulpit  for  him  in  his  early  vision. 
His  book  education  was  wrought  in  the  district  school ;  but  there 
was  another  education  which  he  was  wont  to  call  his  academical 


264  Appendix 

course.  It  was  such  an  education  as  Peter  got  on  the  lake  of 
Galilee,  or  such  an  education  as  he  would  have  got  in  the  nine- 
teenth century  if  he  had  joined  a  mackerel  fleet,  like  young 
Tilden  at  the  age  of  thirteen.  "Many  a  boy,"  he  said,  "goes  to 
Exeter  to  prepare  for  Cambridge  with  less  pride  and  joy,  I  have 
no  doubt,  than  I  started  off  on  my  grand  expedition,  dressed  in 
my  fisherman's  suit,  every  article  of  which,  from  my  red  flannel 
shirt  to  my  pea-jacket  and  tarpaulin,  was  made  by  my  previous 
mother's  own  hands. 

"  For  six  or  seven  consecutive  summers  I  continued  in  this 
academy,  learning  some  things  —  as  is  the  case,  I  suppose,  in 
other  seminaries  —  which  had  better  be  forgotten,  but  many  other 
things  of  a  highly  useful  nature,  not  taught  in  other  institutions  of 
learning.  I  really  think  I  was  a  good  fisherman ;  for  the  summer 
I  was  sixteen  I  was  'high  line,'  as  it  is  called,  beating  even  the 
skipper,  packing  one  hundred  and  thirty-four  barrels,  I  think  it 
was,  caught  by  my  own  hands." 

"About  this  time  I  began  with  my  father  in  the  ship-yard,  still 
fishing  during  the  summer  months  while  I  was  learning  my  trade. 
I  wish  I  had  time  to  tell  you  a  little  about  this  part  of  my  educa- 
tion. The  daily  recitations  in  this  my  university  course  needed 
no  offset  or  balance  of  foot-ball,  base-ball,  boat-race,  or  other 
gymnastics.  We  took  all  that  the  natural  way.  Our  broad  axes 
and  mauls  were  our  dumb-bells,  whip-saws  and  cross-cuts  our 
vaulting  bars,  and  deck  beams  borne  up  the  creaking  stage  on 
our  shoulders  were  our  patent  lifts.  We  worked  from  sun  to  sun 
in  those  days,  often  having  a  steaming  forehood  to  bend  after 
sunset  to  use  up  the  summer  twilight.  But  you  'literary  fellers,' 
whose  education  has  been  so  sadly  neglected  in  these  directions, 
probably  don't  know  what  a  forehood  means.  And,  even  if  I 
should  tell  you  it  is  a  plank  to  be  bent  round  the  bow,  set  home, 
buckled  to,  reined  in,  wedged  hard  down,  clamped  to  the  timbers, 
butted  and  spiked,  ready  for  boring  and  treenailing,  I  doubt  even 
then  if  I  should  give  you  a  perfectly  clear  idea,  so  difficult  it  is  for 
scholars  trained  in  different  schools  to  understand  each  other's 
terms." 

Such  was  the  apostolic  school  in  which  he  was  reared.  Nor 
was  the  Jesus  call  wanting.  It  came  to  him  when  he  was  twenty- 


Tributes  265 

three  years  of  age,  through  the  faithful  preaching  of  Rev.  Caleb 
Stetson,  who  ministered  in  the  old  parish  church  of  Medford. 
"  My  soul  was  awake  now,  hungry  for  the  bread  of  heaven  ;  and  I 
found  it.  It  seemed  to  me  I  had  never  heard  such  preaching 
before.  And  I  think  I  never  had.  He  was  in  his  prime.  And 
as  he  unfolded,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  the  great  central  principles 
of  the  Unitarian  faith, —  the  fatherhood  of  God,  the  brotherhood  of 
man,  sin  its  own  sorrow,  goodness  its  own  reward, —  it  seemed  like 
a  revelation  from  heaven,  as  if  I  had  never  heard  them  before.  I 
saw  them  from  a  new  standpoint.  They  fed  my  hungry  soul. 
They  gave  me  back  the  heavenly  Father  of  my  childhood,  trans- 
figured and  glorified.  Oh,  how  those  truths  sunned  and  warmed 
and  quickened  my  soul !  They  arched  a  new  heaven  over  me,  and 
put  a  new  earth  beneath  my  feet." 

Like  Paul,  he  was  not  disobedient  to  the  heavenly  vision.  The 
call  came  to  him  with  an  authority  which  could  not  be  resisted. 
His  lack  of  advantage  stood  in  his  way.  At  twenty-five  he  had 
to  turn  back  to  his  simple  school  studies,  and  fit  himself  for  the 
duties  of  the  ministry  in  a  denomination  with  a  high  and  exacting 
standard  of  culture.  He  tells  us  how  he  struggled  with  Latin  and 
with  Greek,  how  he  chalked  the  Greek  letters  on  a  beam  over  his 
work-bench,  and  how  he  struggled  in  translating  Virgil,  to  the 
merriment  of  his  teacher.  But  at  last  he  concluded  to  give  up  a 
scholastic  course.  He  came  under  the  influence  of  that  noble 
man,  Rev.  Samuel  J.  May,  of  whom  we  may  say,  as  Garfield  said 
of  Mark  Hopkins,  that  to  know  him  was  a  liberal  education.  He 
guided  him  into  the  precincts  of  the  ministry,  and  he  never  had 
occasion  to  regret  the  kindly,  helpful  counsel  he  gave  to  the  young 
ship-carpenter. 

There  are  few  lives  which  furnish  a  stronger  contrast  to  the 
ordinary  traditions  of  preparation  for  a  Unitarian  minister  than 
the  life  of  Mr.  Tilden.  His  preparation  was  not  of  books,  but  of 
men.  His  education  was  wrought  in  the  school  of  life,  and  it  was 
there  that  his  ministry  was  to  be  exercised.  In  the  course  of 
time  the  ship-carpenter  completely  disappeared  in  the  minister ; 
and  few  of  those  who  heard  Mr.  Tilden  in  later  years  could  imag- 
ine the  disadvantages  under  which  he  labored  in  entering  the  min- 
istry, at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  with  so  slight  a  literary  prepara- 
tion. 


266  Appendix 

As  in  the  case  of  the  early  disciples  of  Jesus,  Mr.  Tilden's 
career  showed  that  the  scholastic  door  is  not  the  only  door  to  the 
Christian  ministry.  Unitarianism  would  have  lost  not  a  little,  and 
the  Christian  ministry  still  more,  if  it  had  not  ignored  tradition 
and  opened  the  way  to  one  whom  God  had  called.  Many  of  those 
who  most  enjoyed  his  preaching  were  men  who  had  received 
every  advantage  of  a  college  training.  It  was  a  part  of  the 
triumph  of  his  life,  after  preaching  in  various  parishes  in  New 
England,  to  come  to  Boston  and  minister  there  for  many  years. 
It  was  a  ministry  rich,  devoted,  benedictory.  It  was  not  confined 
to  the  pulpit :  it  radiated  in  the  home  ;  it  was  a  constant  influence 
in  the  community.  Mr.  Tilden  preached  not  only  by  the  power  of 
his  words,  but  by  the  power  of  his  life.  He  was  of  a  refined,  poetic 
temperament,  a  natural  idealist ;  and  if,  instead  of  working  at  the 
ship-carpenter's  bench,  he  had  passed  through  college  hajls,  no 
man  would  better  have  appreciated  the  spirit  of  Greek  literature 
or  life  than  would  he.  Some  of  his  hymns  written  for  special 
occasions  reveal  his  clear  poetic  vision.  He  early  felt  the  force 
of  the  Transcendental  movement.  He  never  lost  the  glow  of  his 
early  joy  in  God  or  the  ardor  of  his  faith  in  the  brotherhood  of 
man.  These  great  truths  which  inspired  him  at  the  first  continued 
to  inspire  him  to  the  last.  They  were  the  essential  truths  of  his 
gospel. 

His  life  was  long  and  beautiful.  He  worked  almost  to  the  last. 
It  was  his  delightful  mission  in  later  years,  after  giving  up  his 
Boston  church,  to  go  out  and  reanimate  feeble  societies  in  other 
cities. 

His  last  important  public  work  was  the  course  of  lectures  he 
delivered  at  the  Meadville  Theological  School,  which  were  noticed 
at  length  in  these  columns.  This  book  is  a  beautiful  memorial  of 
his  own  rich  and  fruitful  ministry.  His  hoary  head  was  a  crown 
of  glory,  and  he  did  not  wait  to  enter  another  life  to  wear  a  crown 
of  righteousness  woven  from  his  own  noble  character. 

From  Unity :  — 

Father  Tilden  —  blessed  be  his  memory!  —  will  go  in  and  out 
among  his  brother  ministers  no  more.  On  the  morning  of 


Tributes  267 

October  3  he  breathed  his  last  at  his  home  in  Milton,  near  Boston. 
From  the  ship-yard  where  he  toiled  as  a  carpenter,  he  won  his 
way  as  one  of  the  sweet  poets  and  gentle  prophets  of  the  Unita- 
rian fellowship,  growing  to  the  last,  fraternal  and  open  as  was  his 
spirit.  Beautiful  was  his  life,  beautiful  was  the  memory  of  the 
same.  All  who  ever  knew  him  will  find  it  a  little  easier  to  live  in 
the  spirit  for  having  touched  his  genial  nature  and  basked  in  the 
sunshine  of  his  countenance. 

The  Unitarian  Review  had  the  following  :  — 

Some  dim  association  recurring  in  connection  with  the  recent 
illness  and  death  of  our  beloved  brother  Tilden  led  us  to  turn  to 
the  files  of  an  old  correspondence,  and  we  came  upon  the  letter 
from  which  the  following  extract  is  taken.  The  letter  was  writ- 
ten during  a  visit  to  Samuel  Joseph  May  at  Syracuse,  N.Y., — 
about  the  time  that  we  had  heard,  regarding  Mr.  Tilden,  of  the 
very  unconventional  and  bold  act  of  inviting  out  of  the  audience 
into  his  pulpit  one  of  the  people  known  as  "  Abolitionists  "  under 
exactly  the  feeling  expressed  in  the  words,  "  1  have  need  to  be 
baptized  of  thee,  and  comest  thou  to  me  ?  "  The  passage  in  the 
letter  reads  as  follows  :  — 

"  Mr.  May  gave  me  a  very  interesting  account  of  Mr.  Tilden, 
of  Concord,  N.H.  It  seems  that  the  New  Year's  Sermon  he 
sent  me  was  prophetic,  and  that  he  is  going  to  leave  the  place. 
About  a  third  of  the  people  there  resist  his  independence  of 
speech,  though  he  is  a  man  of  real  genius,  and  has  the  most 
charming  spirit  and  character  in  the  world,  and  though  these 
same  persons  say  he  is  altogether  the  best  Christian  in  the  place. 
He  has  been  so  much  with  the  Abolitionists  that  some  persons 
are  prejudiced  against  him.  But  (like  Mr.  May)  he  has  such 
beauty  of  temper  and  breadth  of  view  and  so  sweet  a  moral 
earnestness  that  he  stands  quite  apart  from  the  ferocious  and 
uncompromising  technical  people.* 

"  He  was  a  ship-carpenter  in  Scituate,  had  been  in  Medford, 
and  joined  Mr.  Stetson's  church;  and  Mr.  May  was  first  inter- 

•That  IB,  apparently,  those  who  wore  that  name  like  a  badge. —  ED. 


268  Appendix 

ested  in  him  by  finding  that  he  was  the  writer  of  some  very  beau- 
tiful lines  of  welcome,  when  he  preached  his  first  sermon  in  Scitu- 
ate.  He  was  an  admirable  teacher ;  and,  after  coming  to  know 
him  more  thoroughly,  Mr.  May  said  to  him,  '  I  do  not  like  to 
speak  slightingly  of  any  man's  calling  or  occupation,  but  I  am 
sorry  to  see  you  where  you  are.  You  ought  to  be  a  teacher  of 
men.  Why  will  you  not  devote  yourself  to  it,  and  preach  ? '  At 
this  he  was  much  affected,  and  confessed  that  it  had  been  a  secret 
and  haunting  desire  with  him,  which  he  never  dared  once  to 
speak  of.  But  Mr.  May  encouraged  him  to  cherish  it,  and  come 
to  him  for  instruction  and  help.  So  for  three  or  four  years,  while 
working  six  hours  a  day  at  his  trade,  he  went  on  reading,  study- 
ing, and  conversing.  Being  a  man  of  great  humor  and  fun  withal, 
their  conversations  took  a  cheerful  and  jovial  turn ;  and  many  a 
time  Mrs.  May  would  put  her  head  into  the  study  to  inquire  what 
particular  point  of  theology  was  the  origin  of  that  last  burst ! 

"At  length  Mr.  May's  place  was  unexpectedly  left  vacant 
while  he  went  over  to  help  Mr.  Sewall,  and  he  called  on  Mr. 
Tilden  to  fill  it  for  him.  He  was  startled,  and  begged  off;  but 
Mr.  May  had  been  insidiously  preparing  his  mind  by  leading  him 
to  assert  first  very  strongly  the  wrong  and  harm  of  societies  de- 
pending wholly  on  the  minister,  and  the  duty  of  other  men  to  do 
just  such  things:  so  he  went.  Mrs.  May  was  very  distrustful  and 
uneasy,  not  having  half  her  husband's  cheerful  confidence  in  him ; 
but  she  was  altogether  charmed  and  delighted,  first  with  the  mod- 
est and  beautiful  apology  with  which  he  began,  and  then  with  the 
exceeding  fervor  and  beauty  of  his  service.  [The  sermon  was 
one  of  Dr.  N.  Parker's  or  Channing's.]  And  soon  after,  when  he 
consented  to  preach  his  own  sermons,  his  reputation  spread  at 
once  all  over  the  country,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  was  regu- 
larly employed  to  preach.  Isn't  that  a  beautiful  way  for  a  man's 
vocation  to  come  to  him  ?  " 

All  the  qualities  which  this  letter  describes  will  be  recognized 
as  highly  characteristic  of  the  temper  of  the  man,  and  of  the  long 
ministry,  covering  just  fifty  years,  which  has  made  him  affection- 
ately known  to  so  wide  a  public.  He  filled  his  place  always  with 
a  certain  modesty  and  reticence  which  have  kept  him,  in  a  degree, 
in  the  shade  compared  with  some  more  shining  reputations. 


Tributes  269 

And,  indeed,  there  was  no  trait  in  him  more  marked  than  the 
humility  of  spirit,  touched  with  a  kindly  and  cheery  temper,  that 
made  him  eager  always  to  see  and  own  the  best  there  was  in 
other  men,  whom  he  was  alike  ready  to  honor  as  his  teachers  and 
to  love  as  his  brethren.  Those  lives  are  very  few  in  which 
through  so  long  a  record  there  is  so  little  to  recall  not  in  entire 
harmony  with  the  first  and  best  impression. 

The  Unitarian  printed  in  full  the  address  "  From 
Ship-yard  to  Pulpit,"  prefacing  it  with  these  words  :  — 

The  following  is  one  of  the  most  charming  autobiographical 
sketches  we  have  ever  seen.  As  it  deals  with  the  life  of  one 
greatly  beloved  throughout  our  Unitarian  ranks  and  far  beyond, 
and  one  whose  recent  death  touches  all  hearts  with  unusually 
tender  sorrow,  we  are  sure  we  shall  do  our  readers  a  favor  by 
reprinting  it.  It  was  given  as  an  address  by  Mr.  Tilden  at  a  re- 
ception tendered  to  him  by  the  New  South  Free  Church,  Boston, 
on  his  seventieth  birthday.  May  9,  1881.  The  address  deals 
mainly  with  the  earlier  part  of  Mr.  Tilden's  life.  It  is  a  story 
particularly  inspiring  to  the  young, —  quite  as  inspiring  as  any- 
thing in  the  early  life  of  Franklin  or  Lincoln  or  Channing  or  The- 
odore Parker.  And  the  story  could  not  be  more  delightfully 
told. 

The  Boston  Post  said  :  — 

Mr.  Tilden  was  beloved  by  his  parishioners  for  his  kindly  ways, 
and  his  thoughtful  care  of  their  welfare;  and  the  good  that  he 
accomplished  was  of  no  small  order.  A  forcible  and  interesting 
speaker,  he  impressed  all  his  hearers  by  a  remarkable  combina- 
tion of  vigor  of  thought  with  simple  colloquial  and  yet  impres- 
sive style  of  expression.  Whatever  he  said  came  from  the  heart, 
and  that  feeling  won  the  belief  as  well  as  the  attention  of  the 
listener.  ...  It  has  always  seemed  somewhat  remarkable  that, 
having  pursued  his  studies  while  at  the  mechanic's  bench,  and 
never  having  had  the  advantages  of  a  liberal  education,  he  should 
have  ministered  so  acceptably  to  a  congregation  accustomed  to 


2/O  Appendix 

accomplished  scholars  in  the  pulpit.  At  the  church  -on  Church 
Green,  Summer  Street,  he  was  the  successor  of  Orville  Dewey, 
one  of  the  lights  of  the  Unitarian  denomination,  who  was  himself 
the  successor  of  Alexander  Young,  F.  W.  P.  Greenwood,  Samuel 
Cooper  Thacher,  President  John  T.  Kirkland,  and  Oliver  Everett ; 
and  to  have  ended  the  succession  of  able  preachers  in  that  church 
was  of  itself  no  small  distinction. 

The  Boston  Transcript  says, — 

Possibly  no  other  Boston  clergyman  has  had  more  close,  inti- 
mate, and  appreciative  friends  than  fell  to  the  lot  of  this  recently 
deceased  pastor. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  Boston  Association  of  Congre- 
gational Ministers  held  Nov.  10,  1890,  the  following 
record  was  unanimously  adopted  and  ordered  to  be 
placed  upon  the  records,  and  a  copy  sent  to  the  family 
of  the  late  Rev.  W.  P.  Tilden  :  - 

The  Boston  Association  of  Congregational  Ministers,  with  a 
deep  sense  of  the  loss  it  has  sustained  in  the  death  of  the  Rev. 
William  Phillips  Tilden,  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  one  of  its 
honored  and  beloved  members,  desires  to  put  upon  its  records  an 
expression  of  its  affectionate  appreciation  of  one  whom  to  know 
was  to  love,  who  proved  by  his  life  the  power  of  his  faith,  who 
illustrated  the  worth  of  character,  and  has  left  behind  him  that 
memory  of  the  just  which  is  blessed. 

A  minister  of  Christ  because  of  the  necessity  laid  upon  him  to 
preach  the  gospel,  he  loved  and  magnified  his  office.  Impressive 
and  reverential  in  manner,  his  word  was  with  power.  He  never 
sought  notoriety  by  sensational  effects,  nor  by  levity  "to  woo  a 
smile  when  he  should  win  a  soul."  It  could  never  be  said  of  him 
that 

"  The  hungry  sheep  looked  up 
And  were  not  fed." 


Tributes  271 

He  did  not  bring  great  truths  down  to  the  popular  level,  but  he 
led  his  hearers'  thought  to  the  highest  themes,  by  his  own  faith 
strengthened  theirs,  and  lifted  them  from  what  is  low  to  what  is 
ennobling. 

He  preached  a  living  faith.  He  moved  in  no  settled  grooves  ; 
he  laid  up  in  and  brought  forth  from  his  treasury  things  new  and 
old;  and,  while  his  locks  were  white  with  age,  his  heart  retained 
the  freshness  of  youth,  and  his  mind  was  ever  open  to  whatever 
of  new  truth  it  might  please  God  to  reveal.  Therefore,  his 
preaching  was  with  power  and  unction  from  above. 

His  education  and  training  made  him  familiar  with  men,  and 
gave  him  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  that  adapted  him  to  touch 
the  inmost  springs  of  the  human  heart. 

Sensible  of  his  loss  in  not  having  acquired  a  knowledge  of 
books  in  early  life,  he  labored  zealously  to  supply  his  deficiencies 
in  that  regard,  read  carefully,  and  familiarized  himself  with  the 
best  of  the  best  literature,  and  so  imbued  himself  with  the  fruits 
of  the  best  scholarship  that,  while  the  common  people  heard  him 
gladly,  the  learned  and  the  teachers  none  the  less  willingly  and 
profitably  sat  at  his  feet  and  listened  to  his  words. 

For  fourscore  years  he  walked  with  God,  and  to  many  souls 
was  a  ministering  spirit,  for  he  not  only 

"  Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  but  led  the  way." 

In  the  many  parishes  where  he  was  called  to  minister  his  mem- 
ory will  be  tenderly  cherished.  Those  upon  whose  heads  his 
hands  have  laid  the  waters  of  baptism,  those  who  have  sealed  be- 
fore him  the  vows  which  have  brought  to  them  life's  happiest 
companionships,  those  who  have  tasted  his  sympathy  in  the  hours 
of  their  most  crushing  bereavements,  know  that  he  was  indeed  a 
son  of  consolation,  and  all  those  who  were  by  him  consecrated  to 
the  work  of  the  ministry  will  ever  associate  him  with  the  most 
sacred  recollection  of  their  lives. 

He  was  a  man  of  strong  convictions,  and  could  be  a  son  of 
thunder  for  truth  and  righteousness.  He  could  fearlessly  rebuke 
sin  in  high  places.  He  was  an  ardent  defender  of  whatever  cause 
he  espoused.  He  was  a  zealous  defender  of  the  doctrines  he 


272  Appendix 

believed.  But  so  honest  and  sincere  was  he  that  even  those  who 
differed  from  him  respected  him,  and,  though  his  frankness  often 
created  opponents,  it  never  lost  him  friends. 

He  possessed  great  friendliness  of  manner  and  cheerfulness  of 
disposition.  The  sunshine  of  his  smile  diffused  light  and  happi- 
ness. He  loved  men  as  God's  children.  He  was  one  of  those 

"  Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray 

More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend, 
And  walked  with  man  from  day  to  day 
As  with  a  father  and  a  friend." 

It  was  no  wonder,  then,  that  in  death  his  face  shone,  as  if  he  had 
talked  with  God,  and  had  already  received  a  revelation  of  things 
unspeakable. 

To  his  sorrowing  family  we  tender  our  sincere  sympathy  in 
their  bereavement.  The  end  of  the  upright  man  has  been  peace 
They  have  the  comfort  and  assurance  of  faith  that  their  loss  is 
his  gain.  While  we  sorrow  with  them  that  we  are  no  more  to  see 
his  face,  we  rejoice  that  Unitarianism  in  Boston  has  had  so  noble 
a  representation,  the  Christian  ministry  so  faithful  a  member,  and 
we  ourselves  so  loving  a  friend. 

We  shall  treasure  his  memory,  and  find  in  it  an  incentive  to 
greater  fidelity  to  our  own  trust,  an  encouragement  to  renewed 
endeavor,  a  rebuke  to  our  faint-heartedness,  a  condemnation  of 
our  self-seeking.  Being  dead,  he  shall  yet  speak  to  us  of  love  and 
truth,  of  God  and  duty,  of  Christ  and  faithfulness. 

S.  H.  WINKLEY,  Moderator. 
BROOKE  HERFORD,  Scribe. 

Rev.  Dr.  G.  W.  Briggs,  of  Cambridge,  said  :  — 

A  little  while  since  a  true  preacher  was  carried  to  his  grave, — 
a  man  whose  face  was  a  benediction,  whose  words  were  inspira- 
tion. When  I  stood  in  the  pulpit  at  Milton  and  looked  down 
upon  him,  this  text  kept  coming  to  my  mind,  "  The  beauty  of  holi- 
ness." I  bid  farewell  to  a  life-long  friend  and  brother,  whose 
tongue  will  speak  no  more  with  its  sweet  persuasiveness,  whose 


Tributes  273 

pen  will  no  longer  write  hymns  of  bright  and  triumphant  faith. 
But,  although  dead,  he  is  speaking  still  with  a  deathless  voice  in 
the  hearts  that  have  been  gladdened  by  his  presence  and  inspired 

by  his  ministry. 

Dr.  H.  A.  Miles,  of  Hingham,  writes  :  — 

I  count  it  among  my  precious  blessings  that  I  have  known  and 
appreciated  Mr.  Tilden.  I  shall  never  forget  how  our  acquaint- 
ance began.  It  was  during  his  brief  ministry  in  Concord,  N.H. 
I  found  on  his  study  table  all  the  then  recent  books  on  every  sub 
ject  at  that  time  interesting  the  public  mind ;  and  I  remember 
saying  to  myself,  This  man  will  inquire  widely,  and  will  give  the 
vigor  of  his  nature  to  the  cause  which  seems  to  him  to  be  good. 
Dear  man,  how  he  fulfilled  that  prophecy,  and  rounded  his  life 
accordingly ! 

He  had  a  merit  as  a  preacher  which  distinguished  him  among 
our  ministers  who  deal  so  much  in  ethical,  dogmatic,  and  logical 
sermons,  through  the  influences  of  our  training,  which  we  can  no 
more  escape  than  we  can  escape  our  atmosphere.  He  addressed 
the  affections,  with  no  extravagance  and  cant,  but  with  winning 
directness  and  manly  earnestness.  How  welcome  he  was  in  all 
the  pulpits  !  and  the  loving  aureole  which  enveloped  his  person 
drew  strangers  to  him  out  of  the  pulpit.  I  was  once  in  a  railway 
train  with  him,  but  he  occupied  a  seat  in  the  forward  end,  and  I 
in  the  rear  of  the  car.  I  observed  how  every  passenger  was 
looking  at  him,  and  those  leaving  or  entering  the  train  fixed 
their  eyes  on  him.  Evidently,  they  did  not  know  him  personally, 
but  they  were  attracted  by  a  genial  humanity  conspicuous  at  a 
glance. 

Spared  the  infirmities  of  old  age,  he  lived  long  enough  to 
gather  to  himself  the  affections  of  thousands. 

From  Horatio  Stebbins,  D.D.,  of  San  Francisco:  — 

After  all  the  earthly  scene  is  closed,  it  is  grateful  to  look  back, 
as  a  traveller,  weary  a  little  with  the  day,  stops  to  look  at  the  glory 
of  the  setting  sun.  What  an  inheritance  do  we  all  succeed  to 


274  Appendix 

who  outlive  such  a  one  as  Mr.  Tilden  !  We  all  feel  that  the 
strength  of  the  world  is  more  solid,  and  the  heavens  more  pure, 
for  such  a  one's  having  lived.  He  always  seemed  to  me  one  of 
the  happiest  men,  though  he  bore  the  sorrows  and  wrongs  of  all. 
He  had  such  reliance  on  truth,  virtue,  and  God  that  his  joy  to  be 
full  needed  only  the  sympathies  of  his  fellow-men.  Though  I 
have  known  him  these  many  years,  but  not  intimately,  I  have  es- 
teemed it  a  great  privilege  to  see  him  as  I  have  in  the  two 
summers  in  which  I  have  visited  Milton.  His  fine  spiritual  in- 
sight, his  religious  sensibility,  the  ease  and  strength  of  his  moral 
sense  impressed  me,  and  I  thought  that  he  had  about  as  much 
character  as  any  man  I  ever  saw.  I  know  of  nothing  finer  for 
any  human  creature  than  to  leave  such  an  impression  on  tho^e 
who  come  after  him. 

Extract  from  a  sermon  by  Rev.  W.  I.  Lawrance  :  — 

One  such,  so  dear  to  many  of  us,  and  so  recently  translated 
that  he  seems  even  more  than  before  a  constant  presence  among 
us,  is  doubtless  in  all  your  minds. 

Nature  did  much  for  that  face  to  make  it  beautiful,  but  the  love 
of  God  did  more,  and  made  it  beam  with  a  celestial  light  which 
not  even  death  could  dim.  Nature  did  much  for  the  mind  and 
character,  giving  natural  delicacy,  courtesy,  affection,  for  all ;  but 
the  grace  of  God  did  more,  and  made  every  act,  every  word, 
every  influence,  full  of  heavenly  beauty.  No  idle  words  seemed 
fitting,  no  coarse  or  critical  words  possible,  in  his  presence. 
Sitting,  talking  with  him,  the  thoughts  were  drawn  upward,  and 
only  the  higher  things  seemed  worth  speaking  of. 

From  Mrs.  D.  C.  Nash,  of  Wellesley  Hills,  Mass.  :  — 

My  first  acquaintance  with  dear  Mr.  Tilden  was  when  I  was  a 
child  and  went  to  the  public  school  in  South  Scituate,  thence  to 
his  private  school  for  young  ladies.  He  won  the  hearts  of  all  his 
pupils,  manifesting  the  same  Christian  spirit  then  as  always 
through  his  whole  life. 


Tributes  275 

From  Mrs.  M.  J.  Thomas,  of  Newton,  formerly  of 
Concord,  N.H.  :  — 

I  talked  with  him  of  my  many  cares  and  burdens.  It  was 
selfishness  on  my  part,  for  he  was  such  a  burden-bearer  for  every 
one  in  trouble  that,  when  it  got  too  heavy  to  bear  alone,  I  was  al- 
ways sure  of  being  comforted  by  his  strong  and  helpful  and  lov- 
ing counsel. 

Mr.  John  Capen,  of  Boston,  wrote :  — 

I  gratefully  recall  his  ready  compliance  with  my  request  that 
he  should  furnish  a  hymn  for  the  Unitarian  Festival.  The  first 
was  so  fine  and  so  cheerfully  given  that  I  had  the  hardihood  to  — 
I  won't  say  trouble  him  —  but  to  apply  to  him  several  times  after- 
wards, and  always  with  success. 

All  of  these  hymns  I  keep,  and  prize  as  among  the  best  ever 
furnished  for  that  Festival. 

Rev.  N.  S.  Hoagland,  of  Olympia,  Wash.,  formerly 
a  Meadville  student,  writes:  — 

I  suppose  many  theological  students  really  feel  less  ardor  for 
the  ministry  during  the  third  year  than  they  do  during  the  first. 
They  have  had  so  much  to  do  with  books  and  so  little  to  do  with 
people  that  their  affections  and  interests  are  apt  to  be  for  books 
rather  than  for  people  :  hence  the  ministry  loses  for  them  her  first 
charms.  Mr.  Tilden  came  into  my  school  life  at  an  opportune 
moment.  He  renewed  my  first  love.  Whether  in  the  pulpit  or 
the  lecture-room,  he  revealed  the  power  and  grace  of  the  minister's 
calling.  He  himself  was  an  object  lesson  of  what  he  taught.  He 
won  us  not  so  much  to  himself  as  to  a  trustful,  loving,  consecrated 
service  of  humanity. 

At  a  memorial  service  held  in  Norton  a  paper  was 
read  by  Mrs.  E.  T.  Witherell.  She  referred  to  the  last 
sermon  he  gave  in  that  church  on  "Beautiful  Gates." 
She  says  :  — 


276  Appendix 

We  could  all  assent  to  the  beautiful  in  passing  in  at  the  gates 
of  childhood,  youth,  and  manhood;  but,  when  one  said  to  him 
after  the  service,  "  I  cannot  call  old  age  and  death  beautiful 
gates,"  he  replied :  "  Well,  when  you  are  as  old  as  I  am,  you  will 
see  it.  You  haven't  got  there  yet :  that  is  all." 

April  21,  1891,  was  to  have  been  a  happy  day  for  us;  for  on 
that  day  Mr.  Tilden,  had  he  lived,  would  have  celebrated  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  his  ordination. 

A  letter  of  June  30  says :  "  I  am  counting  fondly  upon  being 
with  you,  if  I  am  able.  At  my  age  all  is  uncertain;  but,  if  health 
permits,  it  would  be  a  great  joy  to  me  to  keep  the  anniversary  of 
my  ordination  with  the  dear  old  flock  of  my  first  love." 

Expressions  of  sorrow  for  his  death,  thankfulness 
for  his  life,  and  of  sympathy  for  his  family,  were  re- 
ceived from  Norton,  Walpole,  Brighton,  Atlanta,  Wil- 
mington, and  Plainfield  societies.  The  latter  voted  to 
place  a  tablet  to  his  memory  in  the  wall  of  their  new 
church  and  hang  his  portrait  in  the  room  of  their  Bible 
class. 

At  the  memorial  service  held  in  Plainfield  the 
pastor,  Rev.  Hobart  Clark,  said  :  — 

Whatever  creed  he  might  have  held,  with  whatever  Christian 
fellowship  he  might  have  worshipped,  men  who  had  once  known 
him  would  say  without  a  doubt,  "  He  has  eternal  life."  And  why? 
Because  they  have  seen  it  in  his  face  and  heard  it  in  his  voice. 
Not  to-day  only  would  men  say  this,  as  his  outworn  body  is  borne 
to  its  last  resting-place  by  tender  hands  to  mingle  with  the  dust 
from  whence  it  came,  while  he  himself  has  sought  a  better  habi- 
tation. They  would  have  said  so  at  any  time  within  these  many 
years.  Meeting  him  upon  the  street,  taking  him  by  the  hand, 
looking  into  his  untroubled  eyes,  and  hearing  him  speak  with 
equal  interest  and  equal  confidence  of  things  earthly  and  things 
heavenly,  they  would  have  said,  they  have  said :  Here  is  a  man 
who  already  has  eternal  life.  Here  is  one  who  knows  God  and 


Tributes  277 

who  lives  with  him  from  day  to  day.  Here  is  one  who  is  already 
of  Christ's  fellowship,  and  who  has,  not  a  different  life  from  other 
men,  but  more  life  than  ordinary  men  possess,  even  though  his 
pulse  beat  more  feebly  and  his  step  be  slow  with  the  weight  of 
many  years.  Here  is  a  man  whose  life  is  given  freely  to  all  man- 
kind, and  yet  hidden  with  Christ  in  God.  The  ordinary  questions 
regarding  what  is  sometimes  called  Christian  salvation  seem  to 
mean  very  little  in  the  presence  of  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Tilden  ; 
and  those  other  questions  concerning  immortality  are  still  more 
out  of  place.  Long  ago  his  life  had  burst  the  boundaries  of  space 
and  time.  It  retained  its  mortality, —  it  was  proud  and  glad  to  do 
so, —  but  was  already  taking  on  its  immortality.  He  knew  no 
more  about  the  future  than  other  men,  but  he  knew  God  and  was 
already  living  in  eternity. 

Extracts  from  a  sermon  preached  at  Meadville,  Pa., 
Oct.  12,  1890,  by  Rev.  H.  H.  Barber  :  — 

"  He  was  a  good  man,  and  full  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and  of  faith." 
ACTS  xi.  24. 

The  remembrance  of  a  good  man's  life  is  a  perpetual  lesson  of 
virtue,  and  the  influence  of  a  genial  and  consecrated  spirit  a  peren- 
nial cheer  and  benediction.  There  is  no  instruction  in  faith  and 
morals  like  the  instruction  of  holy  character,  and  no  testimony  to 
the  reality  of  religion  like  a  man  in  whom  it  visibly  lives  and 
rules.  The  good  man  is  a  "  living  epistle  "  of  the  Spirit,  sealed 
and  sent  by  Gocl  for  witness  and  counsel  to  all  who  know  him. 
He  is  an  embodied  gospel,  to  charm  and  cheer  us  on  to  new  con- 
viction of  the  beauty  and  the  possibility  of  the  righteous  life. 
Some  portion  of  the  Divine  Word  is  made  flesh  in  him  anew,  for 
us  to  behold  there  the  glory  of  God  full  of  grace  and  truth. 

We  have  the  completed  lesson  of  such  a  life  to  study  and  be 
grateful  for  to-day.  A  week  ago  news  came  that  our  friend  Rev. 
William  P.  Tilden,  after  a  long  summer's  illness,  had  passed  out  of 
pain  into  peace. 

To  most  of  you  he  had  been  known  but  a  few  years;  but  here 
and  in  your  homes,  as  a  minister  and  friend,  you  felt  his  rare 


2/8  Appendix 

quality  and  the  cheer  and  lift  of  his  genial  and  devout  spirit.  I 
have  known  him  near  thirty  years,  since  his  hand  was  laid  on  my 
head  in  the  ordination  prayer.  Those  who  know  his  history 
remember  that  he  bore  his  witness  for  his  convictions  and  met 
his  rebuffs  and  hardships  for  it,  none  more  loyally,  as  none  more 
uncomplainingly  and  sweetly.  He  became  a  minister  near  the 
spring-tide  of  that  zeal  for  moral  and  social  reforms  in  which 
Channing  led.  It  was  a  good  school  for  courage  in  the  young 
prophet,  as  also  for  wisdom  and  endurance  ;  and  Mr.  Tilden  was 
one  of  those  who  learned  all  these  lessons  well,  and  witnessed  a 
good  confession  in  loyalty  of  utterance,  as  also  in  accepting  the 
rebukes  and  penalties  of  his  loyalty.  It  is  well  to  remember  that 
the  qualities  that  were  so  pleasing,  and  the  address  that  had  such 
a  fine  charm  in  its  open  frankness,  were  not  formed  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  mere  conformity,  or  the  effort  to  please,  but  by  com- 
mending itself  first  to  every  man's  conscience  in  the  sight  of  God. 
But  it  was  his  wish  to  serve;  and  this  desire  made  him  thought- 
ful and  painstaking  in  his  work  and  in  all  his  intercourse,  and 
developed  in  him  that  readiness  of  sympathy  and  frankness  of 
address  which  gave  him  so  much  power.  He  cared  for  the  wel- 
fare of  men,  and  knew  how  largely  it  lay  in  the  friendly  aspect, 
the  kindly  word,  the  encouraging  tone. 

Beginning  as  a  fisherman  and  carpenter,  he  never  came  to  take 
the  scholar's  view  chiefly  or  use  mainly  the  scholar's  methods. 
The  necessity  that  made  him  a  preacher  without  much  regular 
preparation  was  largely  overcome  by  the  freshness  and  alertness 
of  his  mind,  which  seized  the  vital  points  of  knowledge,  and  went 
straight  for  the  substance  of  truth.  He  made  up  for  the  early  lack 
of  training  by  a  long  process  of  self-training,  which  lasted  his 
whole  life  long.  He  kept  his  mind  young  and  his  zeal  for  knowl- 
edge fresh,  and  few  men  came  to  be  more  intelligent  as  to  current 
thought  and  the  great  problems  of  life  than  he. 

He  believed  that  the  minister  should  have  spiritual  experience 
of  that  he  was  set  to  teach ;  or,  rather,  he  sought  to  be  a  religious 
teacher  because  he  had  experience  of  the  worth  and  the  reality  of 
the  religious  life.  And,  then,  he  tried  to  grow  in  spiritual  truth, 
that  he  might  have  more  to  give.  And  so  power  grew  with 
seeking. 


Tributes  279 

He  did  not  care  much  for  analysis  in  the  things  of  the  spirit. 
Or,  if  he  analyzed,  he  preferred  the  touchstone  of  moral  feeling 
to  the  measuring-rod  of  the  logical  understanding.  Religious 
speculation  had  his  sympathy  and  even  admiration ;  but  he  warmed 
its  chilliest  and  brightened  its  cloudiest  regions  with  the  sun  of 
his  devout  imagination.  He  believed  in  the  future  of  religion  and 
the  future  of  the  world,  and  held  all  to  be  secure  in  the  hands  of 
God.  He  was  a  son  of  consolation,  a  guide  to  better  faith  and 
cheer,  a  ray  of  the  divine  sunshine  wherever  he  went. 

"  God  buries  his  workman,  but  carries  on  his  work."  When  Mr. 
Tilden  was  seventy  years  old,  a  venerable  brother  wished  for  him 
that  his  age  might  be  like  the  launching  of  one  of  the  ships  he  had 
helped  to  build.  And  it  was  so.  Almost  to  the  last  he  was  per- 
mitted to  rejoice  and  to  help  others  rejoice  in  the  work  he  loved. 
No  more  welcome  and  helpful  service  could  have  been  rendered 
than  that  with  which  he  repeatedly  blessed  our  church  and  school 
here.  "  Sealed  Orders  "  he  called  the  last  lecture  he  gave  us,  to 
emphasize  the  Divine  leading  and  unfolding  that  come  in  the  min- 
ister's work  and  life.  When  his  sealed  orders  came,  his  life 
passed  quietly  down  the  ways  of  pain  and  peace,  and  out  into  the 
unknown  waters,  to  meet  his  Pilot  face  to  face. 

His  life  has  been  successful,  even  as  the  world  counts  success, 
in  the  warm  affection  and  growing  honor  and  appreciation  of 
men.  And  that  has  been  because  it  has  also  been  a  success  in 
the  truer  and  everlasting  sense  of  pure  aspiration,  hearty  helpful- 
ness, growing  insight  of  truth,  enlarging  trust.  So.  while  it  kept 
its  early  loyalty,  it  grew,  as  was  fit,  more  and  more  into  the  sun- 
shine. 

Extracts  from  a  sermon  preached  in  Atlanta,  Ga.,  by 
Rev.  George  L.  Chancy,  October,  1890:  — 

The  Christian  minister  whose  recent  death  invites  us  this  morn- 
ing to  thankful  recollection  of  his  life,  if  not  the  carpenter's  son, 
was  himself,  at  first,  a  carpenter.  The  Spirit  found  him  where  it 
had  found  his  Master,  in  a  carpenter's  shop.  There,  in  the  whole- 
some nurture  of  hand  industry,  he  was  hewing  out  the  sturdy  frame 
which  was  to  stand  so  well  the  attack  and  shock  of  Time.  There, 


280  Appendix 

in  the  society  of  workingmen,  he  was  learning  their  way  of  think- 
ing, as  well  as  their  handiwork,  and  laying  the  foundation  for  that 
respect  for  labor  and  laboring  men  which  made  him  through 
life  an  intelligent  and  warm  advocate  of  their  just  claims  upon  the 
fruits  of  their  labor. 

I  like  to  picture  him  as  he  must  have  looked  then,  if  his  youth 
were  any  promise  of  his  beautiful,  strong  manhood  —  a  russet- 
haired  hewer  of  wood,  with  clear,  blue-gray  eyes,  and  strong,  inci- 
sive nose  and  chin,  a  mouth  with  purpose  in  its  close,  and  with 
sweet  persuation  in  its  loosened  lines  when  speech  or  laughter  set 
it  free.  A  hand  and  arm  that  could  drive  a  wedge  or  shield  and 
pet  a  kitten,  so  strong  so  tender.  A  sort  of  Adam  Bede  in  his 
resolute,  stanch  manhood,  his  rage  at  all  villany,  his  love  of 
beauty,  and  reverence  for  good. 

And  this  is  the  man,  hammering  and  chopping  at  his  trade, 
whom  a  wiser  than  man  chose  and  called  to  be  a  minister  of  life 
and  spirit  to  his  age.  I  do  not  mean  that  any  audible  voice  out  of 
heaven  summoned  him  or  any  unusual  apparition  ordained  him. 
He  was  called  by  his  own  spirit  brooding  over  the  sign  of  spirit 
in  the  amazing  world  into  which  he  had  been  born.  Among  the 
causes  which  made  this  calling  articulate  and  sensible  to  the  ear 
was  that  of  Rev.  Samuel  J.  May. 

If  spirits  out  of  the  body  are  suffered  to  attend  and  second  the 
labors  of  kindred  spirits  on  earth,  I  can  believe  that  something  of 
the  gracious  power  and  sweetness  of  Tilden  was  due  to  the  con- 
tinuing ministry  of  May. 

Dear  hearts  !  true  souls !  emancipated  themselves  because  de- 
voted to  the  emancipation  of  all  who  were  bound  by  sin,  by  preju- 
dice, by  ignorance  or  misfortune.  How  like  a  double  star  they 
shine  now  in  their  heavenly  Father's  home !  .  .  . 

A  manly  sturdiness  upheld  all  the  gracious  sweetness  of  his 
customary  speech,  as  solid  masonry  upholds  the  vine  that  runs 
over  it.  He  lived  so  near  the  heart  of  Truth  that  I  think  he 
sometimes  wearied  of  the  slow,  painstaking  groping  after  Truth 
with  which  religious  manuals  and  commentaries  are  filled.  I 
doubt  if  his  mind  ever  knew  the  processes  which  make  the  first 
principles  of  religion  problematic.  He  enjoyed  God  too  much 
ever  to  doubt  him.  Scepticism  makes  no  headway  when  the 


Tributes  281 

heart-way  has  been  with  God.  So  this  child  of  the  Father  who  is 
in  heaven  lived  among  us  full  of  grace  and  truth.  .  .  . 

I  know,  from  personal  observation,  how  beneficent  his  ministry 
in  the  New  South  Free  Church  was.  He  only  gave  it  up  when 
the  burden  of  years  made  him  unequal  to  the  work.  Then,  with 
that  readiness  to  go  wherever  he  was  most  needed,  and  to  do  what- 
ever he  could  do  best,  which  distinguished  his  whole  life-work,  he 
entered  upon  a  ministry  at  large  which  extended  from  Meadville 
in  the  West  to  Brighton  in  the  East,  and  from  Atlanta  in  the 
South  to  Wilmington  and  Plainfield  in  the  Middle  States. 

No  longer  a  candidate  for  settlement  in  any  parish,  he  never 
assumed  the  temporary  charge  of  a  church  that  did  not  want  him 
to  stay  with  them.  Old  churches  usually  have  a  weakness  for 
young  men,  but  the  older  parishes  of  Meadville  and  Brighton 
vied  with  young  Wilmington  and  Plainfield  for  this  aged  minister. 
There  was  nothing  strange  in  it,  for  he  was  young  in  heart,  a 
man-child.  That  old  rendering  of  that  older  Hebrew  name  de- 
scribes him.  All  ages  found  in  him  their  delightful  companion. 
With  the  sober  he  could  show  himself  sober,  and  with  the  gay  he 
could  be  gay.  His  laugh  was  as  whole-hearted  as  his  sympathy. 
It  had  all  the  freedom  and  abandonment  of  childhood,  yoked  with 
manly  good  sense.  It  cleared  the  air  into  which  it  volleyed  like 
a  joyous  burst  of  thunder.  If  the  sun  could  laugh,  I  think  it 
would  laugh  like  that.  Reverberating  sunshine  only  could  de- 
scribe it.  It  was  the  hilarity  of  the  soul.  Such  laughter  as  that 
dispels  disease,  banishes  sorrow,  uplifts  depression,  rebukes  mel- 
ancholy, delights  friends,  and  reconciles  enemies.  It  is  the  oil 
of  gladness. 

Again  and  again,  when  he  was  blessing  us  with  his  benignant 
word  and  look,  I  have  wished  that  he  might  have  his  physical 
youth  restored  to  him, —  his  soul  was  always  young, —  and  that 
he  might  take  us  for  his  colleague  in  the  surely  successful  work 
of  reconciliation  and  good  will  to  which  he  seemed  called  bv 
nature  and  consecrated  by  God.  I  wonder  if  in  his  youth  he 
could  have  been  as  winning  and  converting  as  he  was  in  ripe  old 
age.  I  suspect  that,  like  the  earlier  John,  he  was  a  son  of  thunder 
in  the  days  when  indignation  at  earth's  wrongs  prompts  the  cry, 
"  Shall  we  command  fire  to  come  down  from  heaven  and  consume 


282  Appendix 

them  ?  "  There  are  flashes  of  moral  electricity,  soul  lightning,  in 
the  record  of  his  earlier  pastorates  which  show  that  Love  had  her 
chariot  of  wrath  as  well  as  her  preparation  of  the  gospel  of  peace. 
This  man  was  no  preacher  of  smooth  things,  when  the  heart  of  his 
people  needed  the  cruel  kindness  of  the  surgeon's  knife.  But 
he  dipped  his  whip  of  small  cords  into  oil  and  wine,  and  offered 
healing  even  when  he  wounded. 

He  was  a  singer  as  well  as  a  prophet  in  Israel.  His  hymns 
had  singular  concinnity  with  the  times  for  which  he  wrote  them. 
They  chimed.  He  poured  himself,  as  it  were,  so  melting  was  his 
sympathy,  into  the  mould  of  the  tune  and,  lo  !  the  musical  poem. 
Occasions  of  church  reunion  especially  awoke  his  Muse.  He  was 
never  more  happy  in  heart  or  pen  than  when  he  was  giving  ex- 
pression to  brotherly  love.  He  was  equally  liberal  in  heart  and 
mind.  Nature  made  him  large-hearted  :  culture  made  him  large- 
minded.  And  by  culture  I  do  not  mean  the  greenhouse  variety. 
An  oak  in  a  conservatory  were  not  more  out  of  place  than  he 
would  have  been  among  the  exotics  of  merely  fashionable  society. 
Always  a  gracious  and  dignified  presence  wherever  he  might  be, 
he  would  have  soared  above  the  roof  of  any  little  establishment 
that  sought  to  confine  him,  even  as  I  have  seen  in  the  valley  of 
the  Yosemite  a  tree  whose  foot  was  in  the  centre  of  the  house, 
while  its  head,  two  hundred  feet  aloft,  was  conversing  with  the 
Cloudy  Rest  and  El  Capitan. 

He  died  untitled  by  the  theologian's  consummate  degree ;  but 
few  were  better  entitled  to  it,  if  Doctor  of  Divinity  means,  as 
it  should,  an  able  teacher  of  divine  things.  He  knew  God.  The 
theologians  only  know  about  him.  I  find  in  him  a  first-hand 
dealing  with  the  Spirit.  He  witnesses  the  things  whereof  he  was 
a  witness.  He  dignified  all  he  touched.  When  he  had  said 
grace,  the  baker's  loaf  became  "  bread  which  cometh  down  from 
heaven."  His  benediction  at  the  close  of  the  service  was  as  the 
good  wine  kept  till  the  last.  Worshippers  who  worshipped  with 
him  in  the  Church  of  our  Father  will  remember  how,  on  Easter 
Sunday,  "in  the  beauty  of  the  lilies,"  his  prophecy  of  immortality 
floated  to  them  across  the  sea  of  doubts  and  sorrows  on  which 
their  faith  goes  voyaging  in  this  half-lighted  world.  Nor  will 
they  ever  root  from  their  memories  the  expressions  of  his  face, 


Tributes  283 

the  fathomless  intonations  of  his  voice,  the  cheer  and  pleasant- 
ness of  his  society,  the  delightful  encouragement  of  his  listening 
silence,  and  the  cordial  of  his  speech.  He  had  the  pastor's  every 
gift  and  calling.  Whatever  his  theme,  the  effect  was  religion; 
and  the  homes  he  visited  felt  as  if  the  church  had  come  to  them 
and  laid  its  hand  in  blessing  on  them. 

Crayon  portraits  of  Mr.  Tilden  had  been  hung  in 
three  of  the  churches  where  he  had  ministered  for  a 
longer  or  shorter  time. 

On  the  Sunday  he  preached  his  farewell  sermon  at 
the  New  South  Free  Church,  Dec.  30,  1883,  the  society 
placed  upon  its  walls  his  portrait,  the  work  of  Mr.  F.  E. 
Wright. 

In  1 886  Alfred  Huidekoper,  Esq.,  of  Meadville,  Pa., 
presented  to  the  Independent  Congregational  Church 
of  that  town  a  crayon  by  a  local  artist. 

Early  in  the  winter  of  1891  Mrs.  C.  L.  Heywood  exe- 
cuted for  the  Plainfield  society  another  crayon,  to  be 
hung  in  the  new  church  soon  to  be  erected. 

It  was  the  earnest  wish  of  many  old  friends  and  pa- 
rishioners that  his  portrait  in  oil  might  be  placed  in 
the  building  of  the  American  Unitarian  Association,  25 
Beacon  Street,  Boston.  A  movement  for  this  object  was 
made  under  the  direction  of  Mrs.  A.  L.  Mayberry  and 
Mr.  H.  C.  Whitcomb,  and  Mr.  E.  H.  Billings  was  the 
artist  chosen.  The  large  number  of  people  who  wished 
to  share  in  this  testimony  of  love  and  appreciation  did 
so  with  the  understanding  that  any  sum  in  excess  of 
what  was  needed  for  the  portrait  should  be  given  to  the 
endowment  fund  of  the  Meadville  Theological  School, 
and  the  committee  were  enabled  to  make  a  handsome 
contribution  to  that  institution  in  which  Mr.  Tilden 
was  so  much  interested. 


284  Appendix 

On  the  29th  of  April,  1891,  the  formal  presentation 
took  place  in  Channing  Hall,  which  was  rilled  with 
loving  friends.  Dr.  A.  P.  Peabody  opened  the  service 
with  prayer,  and  paid  a  tender  and  eloquent  tribute  to 
the  early  friend,  the  worker  in  every  good  cause,  the 
Christian  minister. 

We  subjoin  the  following  report  from  the  Boston 
Transcript,  though  it  very  inadequately  represents  the 
beauty  of  the  service  and  the  spirit  of  the  occasion :  — 

Dr.  Peabody  said :  "  Mr.  Tilden  was  identified  with  the  anti- 
slavery  movement  and  other  great  reforms,  for  he  felt  that  to  be 
a  Christian  was  to  take  to  his  heart  everything  that  Jesus  would 
take  to  his  heart.  Strength  and  beauty  were  the  great  traits  of 
his  character.  He  combined  the  strength  of  the  Christian  with 
the  beauty  of  holiness  which  might  have  belonged  to  a  contented 
life,  but  was  never  marred  by  the  severe  work  which  was  his  work 
at  a  time  when  the  public,  to  their  shame,  did  not  recognize  the 
claims  of  humanity  which  he  recognized  from  the  very  first.  But  he 
never  rebuked  sin  with  a  spirit  that  did  not  manifest  a  love  for  the 
sinner  as  well  as  for  those  sinned  against.  As  for  his  private  life 
and  character,  all  of  you  who  knew  him  know  how  kind  and  sweet 
and  domestic  it  was.  We  may  well  be  thankful  that  his  life  was 
prolonged  as  it  was.  In  behalf  of  the  committee  who  have  had 
the  matter  in  charge,  and  who  have  found  their  work  earnestly 
seconded  by  the  artist,  I  present  to  the  Unitarian  Association  the 
beautiful  portrait  before  you.  I  present  it  not  as  to  a  Unitarian 
Association,  but  as  to  a  portion  of  the  one  universal  Church ; 
for  his  was  a  name  we  do  not  want  to  confine  within  the  limits 
of  a  denomination.  He  was  one  of  the  kind  of  men  that  Christ 
makes, —  one  of  the  men  who  would  recognize  as  a  Christian 
every  Christ-like  man  and  woman,  one  who,  when  needing  a  defi- 
nition of  a  Christian,  only  inquired  if  a  man  was  a  follower  of 
Christ." 

Rev.  Grindall  Reynolds  received  the  portrait  on  behalf  of  the 
Unitarian  Association,  and  said :  "  It  gives  us  the  deepest  pleas- 


Tributes  285 

ure  on  the  part  of  the  Association  to  accept  this  portrait.  Our 
walls  are  hung  with  the  portraits  of  a  great  number  of  the  saints 
and  heroes  of  the  Christian  faith,  and  yet  I  question  whether  the 
portrait  of  any  man  more  winning,  more  useful  as  a  Christian 
preacher  and  pastor,  can  be  found  on  our  walls  than  the  portrait 
we  gaze  upon  to-day.  I  receive  it  with  all  the  more  pleasure  be- 
cause it  is  a  real  portrait,  because  it  gives  not  only  the  face  and 
form,  but  the  best  expression  of  the  man  we  respect  and  the  man 
we  love."  Mr.  Reynolds  described  the  work  accomplished  by  Mr. 
Tilden,  and,  continuing,  said:  "He  threw  into  his  power  as  a 
preacher  the  power  of  a  deep  conviction  and  a  great  heart.  I  can 
only  say  in  conclusion  that  it  will  be  a  real  joy  to  every  one  who 
comes  into  this  room  to  see  this  speaking  portrait  that  reminds  us 
of  the  sweet,  loving,  devoted,  strong  man  that  our  friend  was." 
The  exercises  closed  with  the  benediction. 

The  following  notice  of  Mr.  Tilden  as  a  preacher  is 
from  the  pen  of  Dr.  A.  A.  Livermore,  ex-President  of 
the  Meadville  Theological  School,  who  says,  "  To  a 
stranger  it  might  seem  too  laudatory,  but  to  those  who 
knew  and  loved  him  it  would  appear  to  fall  short  of  the 
truth":  — 

REV.    WILLIAM   P.  TILDEN   AS   PREACHER. 

There  are  three  factors  involved  in  the  problem  of  Preaching : 
I.  Natural  Powers;  2.  Education;  3.  Religious  Faith.  In  all 
these  respects  Mr.  Tilden  was  favored  with  superior  advantages 
in  reality,  whatever  might  be  a  superficial  judgment  to  the  con- 
trary. 

He  was  endowed  by  nature  with  a  fine  constitution ;  built  on  a 
large  scale,  sound,  manly,  and  finely  attuned.  His  physique  was 
cast  in  a  generous  mould.  By  hard  labor  as  a  ship-carpenter,  in 
his  youth  and  early  manhood,  his  frame  was  well  developed,  so 
that  he  passed  a  hard  working  life  in  the  ministry  beyond  the 
allotted  threescore  years  and  ten.  Tall,  straight,  and  stately, 
with  a  most  benignant  countenance,  haloed  in  old  age  by  silver 


286  Appendix 

locks,  he  had  a  right  royal  mien  and  dignified  address,  which 
would  make  him  a  man  of  mark  in  any  company. 

Nor  was  his  intellectual  and  moral  manhood  inferior  to  his 
physical  endowments.  He  had  a  large  talent  of  native  good 
sense,  the  faculty  of  seeing  and  judging  of  things  as  they  were, 
and  a  quick  susceptibility  to  discern  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and 
the  good, —  the  heritage  of  an  unspoiled  nature.  While  dignified 
in  bearing,  his  warm  heart  brought  him  in  sympathetic  relations 
with  others,  and  he  wore  no  stiff  professional  garb  to  break  the 
charm. 

It  was  said  of  one  who  was  self-taught  that  he  had  a  very  poor 
teacher,  but  Mr.  Tilden  was  favored  in  this  respect.  He  had  a 
good  instructor,  though  not  from  school  or  university.  He  drew 
from  pure  fountains  within,  and  the  aid  he  derived  from  his  pastor, 
Rev.  Samuel  J.  May,  was  of  the  happiest  kind.  He  had  none  of 
the  technical  bias  of  learning  to  warp  the  native  integrity  of  his 
soul. 

His  bright  and  genial  trust  in  the  Fatherhood  of  God,  and  the 
beliefs  flowing  from  the  central  sun  of  theology,  made  him  a  cheer- 
ing preacher.  His  sympathy  and  fine  tone  of  brotherly  love  were 
something  better  than  eloquence,  and  captivated  all  hearts.  His 
liberalism  had  no  savor  of  indifferentism,  nor  did  it  fossilize  with 
age. 

He  grew  in  power  as  he  grew  in  age,  and  his  last  days  were  his 
best  days.  He  kept  his  mind  ever  open  to  whatever  new  truth,  or 
old  truth  with  new  effulgence,  was  ready  to  break  forth  from  God, 
man,  nature,  or  the  Bible.  One  of  his  characteristic  sermons  was, 
"  The  Word  of  God  is  not  bound."  Few  young  men  were  as 
young  and  fresh  as  he  was  in  his  faith,  which  sprang  from  his 
heart  like  a  fountain  in  the  sunlight. 

The  pulpit  was  his  "  joy,"  if  not  his  throne.  He  was  in  his  native 
element  when  he  entered  it.  He  loved  to  preach,  and  he  brought 
forth  fruit  in  his  old  age.  He  never  preached  with  more  interest 
and  power  than  in  his  last  years  in  Meadville,  Plymouth,  Brighton, 
and  Plainfield,  where  he  drew  most  sympathetic  hearers. 

His  whole  service  was  characteristic.  That  single,  arrowy  Script- 
ure phrase  that  began  the  service  and  went  straight  to  the  hearl, 
and  pitched  the  note  of  worship,  the  brief,  tender  invocation,  the 


Tributes  287 

reading  of  the  Scriptures,  hymns,  prayers,  sermon,  benediction, 
constituted  one  harmonious  whole,  each  part  helping  the  others. 
It  was  a  beautiful  idyl,  pure  in  taste,  but  strong  in  appeal  and  per- 
suasion. 

He  was,  as  he  said  of  another,  a  born  minister.  His  good 
genius  found  him  out  in  the  ship-yard. 

Then  his  new  faith  was  no  capricious  feeling  or  holiday  senti- 
ment, but  deep  as  life,  close  as  color  to  the  leaf,  vital  as  blood,  a 
gospel  that  was  indispensable  to  the  recovery  of  man  and  society, 
or,  in  his  favorite  phrase,  "to  the  uplifting  of  humanity  to  a 
higher  plane  of  action."  Hence  he  was  first  and  always  a  re- 
former, and  his  pulpit  a  tribune  to  try  and  judge  the  questions  of 
society  and  the  church, —  anti-slavery,  temperance,  peace,  purity, 
politics,  and  every  religious  cause  of  human  welfare.  But  he  ad- 
vocated his  most  incisive  views  with  such  a  bland  and  lovable 
spirit  that  none  could  justly  take  umbrage,  in  this  respect  follow- 
ing the  footsteps  of  his  teacher,  Mr.  May.  He  never,  as  the  cus- 
tom of  some  is,  put  a  stinging  snapper  on  the  whip  with  which  he 
chastised  the  sins  of  the  day.  He  took  no  offensive  airs  of  I  am 
holier  than  thou  in  his  strong  appeals.  Though  his  opponents 
might  hate  his  principles,  they  could  not,  as  was  said  of  another, 
but  love  the  man. 

In  the  volume  of  lectures  on  the  ministry  to  the  students  of 
Meadville,  one  of  the  best  we  have,  Mr.  Tilden  gathered  up  the 
wisdom  of  his  long  and  devoted  service  in  the  pulpit,  for  the  help 
of  his  younger  brethren.  He  gave  little  heed  to  barren  specula- 
tions, foreign  to  his  own  taste  and  useless  to  the  needs  of  the 
plain  people.  He  took  the  truth  which  he  had  already  tested  and 
found  to  be  good,  and  applied  it  to  the  service  of  his  hearers. 
Many  preachers  are  overstocked  with  pedantic  and  undigested 
learning  and  given  to  unproved  speculations.  It  is  the  old  scho- 
lastic habit  brought  down  to  the  present  day. 

In  illustrations  he  was  refined  and  apposite,  and  mixed  his  dis- 
courses with  touches  of  a  delicate  and  juicy  humor,  for  he  had  a 
poetical  imagination. 

While  Mr.  Tilden  was  open-minded  to  the  unfoldings  of  new 
truths  or  the  fresh  applications  of  old  ones,  he  was  no  iconoclast, 
but  kept  the  even  tenor  of  historical  continuity,  and  respected  the 


288  Appendix 

Christian  perspective  of  the  chief  commandments.  He  built  on 
Christ,  and  made  his  all-persuasive  appeal  from  that  "  coigne  of 
vantage."  As  was  said  of  another  of  our  lately  translated  breth- 
ren, he  was  better  fitted  to  preach  to  the  righteous  than  to  sin- 
ners. He  could  hardly  believe  men  were  as  bad  as  they  really 
are.  The  atmosphere  of  his  church  was  cheery,  bracing,  and 
hopeful.  The  common  people  heard  him  gladly,  as  they  did  his 
Master.  "The  bright  heavens"  was  a  phrase  on  his  lips  not  sel- 
dom. He  was  our  Saint  John  to  take  the  eagle  flight  into  the 
heaven,  and  proclaim  the  glories  of  love. 

His  last  years  were  rich  with  the  ripe  fruit  and  full  harvest  of 
Christian  experience  and  a  long  and  loving  walk  with  God.  His 
sermons  were  bright  sparks  struck  from  the  anvil  of  truth  and 
righteousness.  His  prayers  were  "foregleams  of  immortality.'' 
His  theology  was  summed  up  in  God  as  the  heavenly  Father, 
Jesus  as  our  leader,  sin  its  own  punishment,  goodness  its  own  re- 
ward, Christianity  the  divine  instrument,  life  the  school,  character 
the  end,  and  heaven  our  home. 

Peace  be  to  his  beautiful  memory ! 


IIP  X 

.vJLv  C 


atvi 


c 


£  W/JHE» JREGONAI JJBRAfly  FAC.U1 


